The Lost Angel
by Kathoran
Summary: Katie Rogers, America's Angel, lost everything after WWII left her without her first love, her brother, and her freedom. She's been on the run her entire life, never trusting anyone. Seventy years after the death of the only two men she'd ever cared about, she discovers a dark secret: Both are alive... and neither man remembers her.
1. Chapter 1

Bruce stepped outside and took a deep breath, forcing the majority of his anger out of the way. He laced his fingers behind his head and groaned, closing his eyes. The cause of his aggravation was the Avengers. He was one of six, and the other five were inside the tower bickering like children. Stark and Thor were fighting over who was strongest, Rogers was trying to break them up, and Natasha and Barton were at the firing range, training. He breathed out, listening to the sounds of the city. He always hated being in large, populated areas; he was afraid of who could get hurt because of him.

He was beside the street, and though it was Manhattan, it was very quiet. The street by which he stood was deserted except for him, and the only light was that of the streetlamps which washed the street with an eerie orange glow.

The sound of something being slammed against a dumpster made him stiffen, and he turned his head to get a better reading on where the sound had come from. He could hear the distant sounds of sirens and horns from the main section of New York City a few miles away, but for the moment there was silence.

After a moment he heard the sound of scuffling from an alleyway nearby and crept closer. A heavy _thud _echoed through the street, followed by the sound of footsteps retreating from the alley.

He stood, back against the brick wall of a building, ran around the corner of the apartment building, and tripped over something on the ground, face-planting on the pavement. He swore under his breath as he surveyed his scraped up arms, wiping them on his shirt to clean the blood off them as best he could.

Moving into a crouch, he turned to face whatever had tripped him. He felt his breath leave him as he stared in astonishment at the small figure on the ground in front of him. It was a girl. A child, by the look of it.

He crawled over to the girl and gently rolled her onto her back, revealing her to be a young woman who looked to be in her mid-to-late-teens. She had dark, curly hair which fanned out around her head, dry except for a wet patch near her hairline. Bruce gently touched his hand to the spot and clenched his teeth when he saw her blood stain his hand. He touched her ribs, testing to make sure none were broken and was relieved to find that none appeared to be. He leaned over her and held his breath, listening for her breathing.

He let out a sigh of relief when the sound of her breathing reached his ears, but concern washed over him again when he realized how shallow it was. Her face was pale, almost grey, and her black jeans were torn and bloody. Through it was the middle of summer, she wore a back trench coat, which had come undone in the scuffle, revealing a black top, also torn. Bruce frowned at a particularly long tear and touched it, grimacing when he felt blood drenching her top.

He looked around, wondering who had attacked the girl, but couldn't find any clues from his position on the ground. Making a split-second decision, he propped her up and wrapped his arms around her. Standing slowly, he adjusted her body so that he could carry her easily, and felt another rush of concern at how light she was. He began walking quickly towards the entrance to the tower and entered without incident, looking around nervously the entire time.

He quickly made his way to the floor his lab was on and entered his room, locking the door securely before setting her on the bed. He made his way to his phone and hesitated, looking over at the girl before picking his phone up and dialing a number on it, his hands shaking with suppressed anger. Anger at the others, at S.H.I.E.L.D., at whoever had attacked this girl, and life in general. He closed his eyes and waited impatiently for the one person who could calm him down to pick up the phone. After an eternity, their voice reached his ears.

"Bruce? Is everything okay?"

He cleared his throat. "Natasha? I need your help."

"Bruce? What's wrong?" Natasha's voice echoed through the phone.

"I can't say," Bruce answered, knowing full well that Tony could hear everything said if he wanted to. "I need you to meet me at my lab immediately."

"Why me?" She answered, "Wouldn't Clint be better for a project?"

"No," he answered, "Just you. You must come _now_. Please."

Silence answered him.

"I'm on my way," she finally said. Bruce sighed in relief as the line went dead. Dropping his head into his hands, he reflected over all the girl's wounds, wondering what all he would have to fix.

He went to the bathroom and grabbed a rag, holding it under the faucet until it was drenched in warm water. He glanced up at the mirror and gazed at his reflection for a moment before heading back to the bedroom. The poor girl was still out cold, so he stood beside the bed and began cleaning the blood from her forehead gently. When the rag became saturated with blood, he headed to the bathroom and grabbed a second rag before heading to her.

He turned as a knock sounded from the door but before he could answer it, a groan came from the bed behind him. Bruce turned around, shocked. "No, no, no, you can't be awake," he muttered, going around the bed to where she lay, forgetting about the person at the door.

Her eyes fluttered open, revealing them to be bluish grey with a ring of dark blue around the iris, nearly identical to Rogers'. "Where am I?"

He looked around for help, but turned back to her. Her pupils were dilated to the point that her irises were barely visible, and her skin was pale and clammy. "Answer me," she said, putting as much venom as possible into her tone, though pain was clear in her voice.

"Easy," he said gently, sitting down on the bed next to her and pressing the warm rag to the blood-soaked patch of hair near her forehead, "You're safe."

"Where am I?" she repeated, her teeth clenched against the pain.

"You're in the Stark Tower," he answered, removing his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose.

"How did I get here?" she asked, her voice terrified.

"I found you unconscious in an alleyway outside the tower," Bruce replied, "You're injured; I don't know how badly."

She opened her mouth, but before she could say anything else, another voice came from behind Bruce. "Who's this?"

Bruce stood and turned to face the red-haired woman behind him, who stood motionless in the doorway. "Natasha, I need your help."

"What is going on?" The girl demanded, struggling to sit up.

"I'd like to know that as well," Natasha said, raising her eyebrow.

"Tasha, she's hurt, that's all that matters right now," Bruce said, crossing his arms in exasperation.

"I'm fine," the girl said, sliding off the bed and onto her feet. "I don't need your help."

As the two adults watched, her left knee suddenly jerked to the side, causing her to collapse. She yelled in pain, her eyes squeezing shut. She caught herself on the edge of the bed and sucked in a breath, glaring at the adults as they jumped forward to help her.

"I don't need help," she snarled, her irises all but overcome with black from the pain. Bruce knew what had just happened and he felt a surge of anxiety at the severity of the situation. He could see sweat beading on her forehead and could see the strain on her face from the effort of holding herself up.

"Please," he said, holding his hands out in supplication, "you're hurt. Let us help you—"

"Why should I trust you?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"Because we're all you've got," he answered.

She stayed silent, watching the two and weighing her options. She looked at the window and the darkness outside, and Natasha saw helplessness flash in her eyes, something she was familiar with. "Alright," the girl whispered.

"Alright," Banner repeated, sighing in relief. "Natasha, can you help her back into the lab? We need to get her onto a flat surface so I can set her leg."

Natasha nodded and stepped over to her before lifting her up and helping her towards the door. "On it."

Bruce nodded and opened the door for the two women before gathering up his supplies and clearing off one of the tables. As Natasha set the girl on it, she looked up at them, her eyes sparkling in pain. There was thanks there, but no trust.

Natasha watched the girl in amazement as Bruce set her leg; apparently she had dislocated her knee when she jumped off the bed. That wasn't what amazed her. What did was that though this girl had to be in serious agony, she barely showed it at all, except for a hiss of pain every now and then. Honestly… she reminded Natasha of herself a bit.

"Okay," Bruce said, stepping back from the girl to get a good look at her injuries. "Your leg should be alright; just don't go jumping off any buildings anytime soon." He said it in jest, but a sheepish look flashed across the girl's face. She nodded. "Natasha, this is where I need you," Bruce said, turning to her.

"Alright," she said, stepping up to the table.

"Okay, I need you—what's your name?" Bruce asked suddenly.

The girl frowned, her stormy eyes narrowing a bit as her eyebrows scrunched together in distrust.

"It's alright," he said, backtracking, "You don't have to tell us—"

"Katie," she said, looking up at Natasha and locking eyes with her. "My name's Katie." Something about her gaze made the assassin shiver; something about her seemed so familiar, but she couldn't place a finger on what.

"Katie," Bruce said. She nodded. "Alright, Katie, I need you to push up your shirt to a bit above the ribcage so I can get a good look at the wounds you received. Can you do that?"

She nodded slowly and nervously glanced in the older woman's direction. She lifted the top up, but her trench coat made it difficult for Bruce to see.

"Do you mind taking off the coat?" Bruce asked. "It would make it easier to see if you did—"

"No," she said firmly.

"Why not?" Natasha asked. Katie turned to face her, eyes cold and calculating.

"It is not your concern," she said sharply, tugging her top down, wincing as she did so.

The two of girls glared at each other and finally, without breaking eye contact, the elder spoke to Banner. "Bruce? Leave, I need to speak to Katie alone."

Katie's face remained expressionless.

"Sure," he said resignedly, stepping towards the door. "Just try not to break anything."

As the door closed behind him, she sat down backwards in a chair, facing Katie. The younger girl watched the older carefully, rather like a bird watching another animal, wondering whether to fight or to flee.

"You do realize that we're trying to help you?" Natasha asked, raising her eyebrows. The girl clenched her teeth, obviously not buying it. "Please, just do what Bruce says so you can get better."

She laughed humorlessly. "Why should I trust you?" she asked.

"We're the good guys," Natasha answered.

Katie's eyes burned with anger and she stood up, holding onto the table for support.

"You have no idea how many times I've been told that," she said, fury in her voice. "You don't know anything."

"The why don't you tell me?" She asked, standing up. Natasha noticed that the girl was taller than her by almost a head and that she looked ready for a fight.

Katie laughed again, never taking her eyes off the Russian assassin. "I know you. You're an assassin. Your specialty is interrogation. I won't talk to you."

The woman looked carefully at this girl, who knew about her though they had never met. "And who will you talk to?" she asked.

"Banner," she answered.

Natasha shrugged. "Bruce!" she called. He stepped back in the room.

"Yes?" he asked, rubbing his hands together. Natasha stood up.

"You try talking to her," she said, exiting the room and heading for Stark's files. Time to do some research on this mystery girl.

Katie's POV:

I relaxed a bit when Natasha left. I don't feel comfortable with her around me. Bruce sat down in the chair Natasha had just vacated, and I watched as he took a pair of glasses and placed them on his face. He looked up at me, his dark brown eyes kind and warm.

"So Katie," he began, his voice calm, "Why don't you let me see how bad your wounds are? If you lose much more blood, it could be very bad for you. The amount you've already lost is unhealthy. I'm amazed you're not suffering any majorly ill effects from it."

My head tilted a bit, and I blinked as a reply formed itself in my head. "I've had worse," I said truthfully. Being captured by Nazis outweighs being slashed by a switchblade, although being stabbed isn't the best thing that could have happened.

"Be as that may," he replied, a faint smile on his lips, "We still should treat your injuries before they become too serious."

"Do I have to take off my coat?" I asked, feeling my muscles tense up.

"Not unless it becomes the difference between your losing your life and keeping it," he answered, smiling wryly. "If it comes to the difference between life and death, would you remove it?"

I nodded and lifted my shirt again, hands shaking. He leaned forward and shone a flashlight on my side, instructing me to lie on my back, which I did. His hands were cold, and he gently probed the cut on stomach and the area around it. After a few minutes, he sat back, his face grim.

"What? What is it?" I asked, feeling a bit nervous.

"You need surgery," he answered tersely.

"What?" I asked disbelievingly, sitting up.

"You need surgery. Your cut is still bleeding, and it's deep," he replied blankly, retrieving his supplies and returning to my side. He pushed me back onto the table. "I'm not going to force you to do this, Katie, but know that if you don't receive medical attention, you could very easily die."

I paled, and I nodded, my mouth dry. "Okay."

"Alright," he said, pulling out an anesthetic mask. "I need you to breathe this in."

"What?" I nearly shrieked.

"This is a kind of gas that will help you to fall asleep so you will not feel pain while I sew up the afflicted area," he explained.

"I know what Anesthesia is, and no."

"What? Katie—" he began anxiously.

"I said 'no'," I answered, angry. "I'll take pain medicine, but I'll be awake. I'm not going to be out cold in a stranger's house while he has access to anything that could cut me open."

He pressed his lips together, frowning. After a minute, he nodded, his eyes finding mine again. "Alright. Take these," he handed me a couple light blue pills, "And lie still."

"Dammit," he said some time later, the blood draining from his face.

"What?" I asked, clenching my teeth. Despite the painkillers, I was still in a lot of pain, just not nearly as much as I would have been in.

He looked up at me and held up his hand, which was scarlet. I the blood drain from my face as realization dawned on me. Bruce had by now finished sewing up the cut on my stomach and had moved on. After washing his hands, he had gone to pull my shirt back down and had touched my back on accident. My back was soaked in blood. My heart rate picked up as I was faced with two choices: take off my jacket and exposed my true identity to this stranger, or bleed out in said stranger's laboratory.

"How bad is it?" I asked, forcing my voice to remain calm. I sat up and nearly screamed in pain. I tried to play it off, but Banner wasn't fooled.

"I can't tell how bad it is because of the jacket," he answered, pursing his lips together. "You said you would take it off if it came to a choice between life and death."

I closed my eyes, drew my knees to my chest, and nodded, fear flooding through me. "Take it off. But please… don't scream, or freak out, or do anything to me," I was begging, hysteria rising through me as I felt his hands on my shoulders, sliding the blood-soaked material off my arms and off my body. I felt him freeze next to me as I wrapped my arms around my knees, burying my head in my arms. _That's it, I'm doomed, he's going to kill me—_

"Who are you?" he whispered, wonder in his voice.


	2. Chapter 2

Natasha frowned as she searched thorough S.H.I.E.L.D.'s files, finding nothing on our mystery girl. She paused and wiped her forehead, sighing.

_So she's clean, unlike me. Unless she was like Steve and was decades older than any of us… Wait._

She went back to the computer, its soft hum the only other sound besides the clicking of the keys. "K-A-T-I-E," she spelled quietly to herself, typing in any other data she knew about her. The room was dark except for the blue glow of the screens.

A file came up on the screen, and she scanned it quickly, a satisfied smile growing on her face. "Gotcha."

Katie's POV

I squeezed my eyes shut, my body rigid with fear as flashes of memories flew through my head; images of chains and needles and blades; pain; darkness; screams of agony—_I can't go back, I won't, I'll fight him if I have to, I know I'll lose, but I have to do something—he'll kill me, he'll torture me, he'll experiment on me, he'll—_ "Katie?" he asked, his voice warm.

_Can't trust him, must get out, must run._

_But he was kind to me—_

_It doesn't matter; he'll kill you anyways—_

Fight or flight? That question raged in my mind as my body became coated in cold sweat, my breathing uneven and shallow.

_Fight._

_Flight._

_Fight. _

"Katie!" He yelled.

_Flight. _

_ Fight._

_ Flight—_

"Katie!"

My eyes shot open and I leaped forward, snapping my wings out and nearly knocking Bruce off his feet. I stood on a different table on top of piles of papers and folders, which made my footing uneven. My hurt leg shook with the effort of holding up my weight. My breathing was shallow, and adrenaline coursed through my veins, making my whole body shake. I was coated with sweat, and I couldn't get enough air. Bruce stood up slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. His hands were spread in front of him as proof that he held no weapon. My wings buffeted him back a bit and kept me hovering in the air enough that all my weight wasn't on my leg.

_He's tricking me—he's going to trap me and hurt me—I won't be able to escape this time—_

"Katie, please, I promise not to hurt you, just calm down. You're still hurt, I haven't finished the surgery, please," his brown eyes were pleading with mine. "I know what it's like to be hunted. To want to run, but not having anywhere to go. I won't do anything to you. I'll protect you. Just please, calm down."

His voice soothed me, and my wings lowered me to the floor, where they folded back neatly against my back. Slowly but surely, I climbed off the ground and slowly limped back to Bruce, my arms wrapped around myself. I stopped when I stood in front of him, and I looked up at him, feeling lost and scared.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

"Hey, no, there's nothing to be sorry for," he said, smiling a bit. "You were scared. There's nothing to apologize for."

I nodded, still shaking. I sat back down on the table as he finished the surgery, and when he was done, I stood as best I could, gripping the table for support. I wore my tank top and jeans, the other clothing having been removed for the surgeries. I looked at my clothes—meaning my coat and shirt and socks—which were soaked in blood and sweat. I bit my lip. _They'll find me if I stay…_

"Do you want to stay here for a while?" Bruce asked, taking off his gloves. "At least until you're healed."

I hesitated, nervous. "I don't… Well, you see—"

"Come on," he urged. "Have you got anywhere to go?"

I shook my head slowly.

"Stay here. I'll keep you safe. I promise. The others won't be a problem."

"The… others?" I asked.

"Yes," he said, somewhat unenthusiastically. "They're a rough bunch, but they're much better once you get to know them."

"No. I don't want to meet the others," I said firmly. "They won't treat me the same, they'll hurt me."

"No, they won't—" Bruce started.

"Bruce," I said, cutting him off. "If you knew who I am… what I am… you'd try and kill me too."

He shook his head. "I know enough. I'm not going to hurt you, and neither are the others."

"Bruce!"

We turned to see Natasha and a dark haired man standing in the doorway, glaring at me. I felt my body tense up again, and I backed up, hiding my wings from view. "Hello, Katie, is it?" the man asked. My heartbeat sped up, and Bruce stepped in front of me.

"Stark, please, just listen to me," Bruce said. Stark? I looked over at him, and I could see the resemblance to his father, Anthony.

"Who is she?" he demanded.

"This is Katie," Bruce answered.

"What do you know about her?" he asked.

"Enough," Bruce answered, his voice a growl.

"I know more than enough, then," he said. Stark pulled out a clear tablet and began reading off it, and I shrank away from them as Bruce's eyes grew wide with shock.

"Blew up a sub, blew up a mountain, killed fifty people in a subway explosion, cause the crash of an F-15, a—"

"Where did you get that?" I asked, my voice low.

"S.H.I.E.L.D.," he answered.

He began reading off more, and I covered my ears. "Stop it!" I screamed. Everyone turned to me. "None of that was me," I explained desperately, "I didn't, it wasn't, I just—"

"Really? Because it looks like you," Stark said, showing me the tablet, which showed me doing all he said and more. I closed my eyes and felt a tear fall down my cheek. _It was me. But at the same time, it wasn't. I couldn't control what I was doing. They made me do it; I don't know how. But I was blamed for it, and I blamed myself._

I looked at Bruce and felt more tears slide down my face as my voice caught in my throat. "Please, Bruce, please believe me," I choked out, terrified. _What if he didn't believe me? What if he sent me back and let those—those monsters experiment on me again? I couldn't survive… not again._

"Look, we just need to ask you some questions—" Stark started.

I backed up and spread my wings out, tensing up. "Stay away from me," I growled, scared.

"No need for violence," he said, discreetly reaching down to take something from his pocket. "Why don't we just—"

Faster than thought, I flew into him, knocking him over into a table. I sprang towards the door and almost slammed into the opposite wall before hurtling down a random hallway, my heart pounding in my ears. I took turn after turn, going up and down flights of stairs, trying to find the exit. I saw a light ahead and flew towards it. Now, I am, at this point, running. There's not enough room in here to fly. I ran into the room and promptly slammed into someone.

"Who is this?" he asked. I stood up, terrified, and stared at the three men in front of me. The one I ran into was very tall and muscular and had long golden blonde hair and a short scruffy beard. He wore armor and carried a huge hammer, which seemed a bit strange to me. The second had short cropped, dark hair and piercing eyes, and wore all black. A bow and quiver of arrows were strapped to his back. The last wore jeans and a tight, white, running shirt and had dirty reddish blonde hair and eyes just like mine. Oh my god. _No, it can't be—_

"You're supposed to be dead," I gasped, my eyes wide. I felt as though I had just seen a ghost; I couldn't breathe.

He frowned and looked at the other two. "Who are you?" Steve asked. My heart shriveled in my chest as I looked around and spotted a balcony.

"Uh, I'm Katie," I said, managing a weak smile and waving a bit, inching towards the open window, "Sorry to bother you, I'll just be on my way…"

"Thor! Stop her!" Stark's voice came from behind me and as alarm registered on the three men, I jumped off the ground and spread my wings, intending to escape.

As I took off, I heard a spinning noise and felt someone's arms around me. I looked down and saw the hammer around my waist like a safety bar at an amusement park. That must mean that 'Thor' was behind me. I began struggling, screaming, and thrashing as he pinned my wings to my back and flew back to the ground. I'm not sure how, but I managed to smash my elbow into his nose. He dropped me and gripped his nose, looking shocked that he had been hurt.

Steve came up behind me while I wasn't looking and put me in a full-nelson, keeping my arms and wings still, but still managing to keep from hurting me badly. I yelled, trying to pull away from him, but his grip didn't waver.

"What is going on?" he asked, anger in his voice. I flinched. I knew that voice. I know that voice. I hadn't heard it in seventy years, but there was no doubt in my mind of who held me right now.

I'm screwed.

I stood still, my armslocked behind me as Natasha and Stark strode up to me. Natasha smirked, and I resisted the urge to kick her in the face.

"Glad we could catch you before you left," she said.

I ground my teeth, my hands clenching into fists as I stared at her, my mind spinning a thousand miles an hour trying to figure out how to escape. I pulled against Rogers, but he tightened his grip, and I desisted when it became too painful.

"Ow," I said dryly, twisting around to glare at him. He loosened his grip a bit.

"Sorry," he responded, sounding not at all guilty.

I felt my heart twinge, and I bit my lip. _His voice… _

"Now," Natasha said, sitting down on the couch and crossing her legs. "Do you want to explain why you broke in here?"

I froze, staring at her in shock. "What?" I spat, anger surging through me. I shook my hair out of my face to see her better. If looks could kill, she'd be dead ten times over.

"Explain why you broke in here," she said calmly, her voice setting me on edge. "I'm sure we would all love to know."

"Where's Banner?" I grunted, pulling against Steve's grip again. I let out a small groan of pain as he tightened his grip, and I heard my left shoulder creak. I had been injured there years before; the wound had never fully healed.

"What?" Thor asked, striding into my line of sight and frowning. "What do you want with Banner?"

I raised my eyebrows at him, relaxing my shoulders in an attempt to relieve the pressure from them as I tried to figure out what to do. I decided on a diversion; it was better than being interrogated. "Who are you?" I asked. I looked around. "Who are any of you?"

Natasha stood. So apparently she's the spokeswoman here. Great. "We shouldn't have to answer," she said, "But since you're obviously not going anywhere, I guess it won't do any harm. I'm Natasha Romanoff."

"I am Thor," the blonde man interrupted, his voice deep. He gazed at me solemnly, his blue eyes boring into mine. I looked away, unsettled by the look he gave me.

"I'm Steve Rogers," Steven said from behind me.

"I know who _you_ are," I grunted. I don't think he heard me.

"What?" he demanded, his grip tightening painfully.

"I, uh, I—" I was stammering, nervous. He spun me around to face him, keeping an iron grip on my forearms. His blue-grey eyes bored into mine, and I felt very small. His grip on my arms was like iron; we stood inches from each other, face to face. I had never felt so far away from anyone.

"Well?" he asked, sounding angry.

"Steve," Natasha interrupted, looking at us interestedly, "Let's have this conversation later."

"No, we're having it now," he snapped, his eyes clouding in anger.

I shrunk away from him as much as I could, afraid. I hated seeing the angry side of him; it scared me.

"Steve, this is not the time," she said firmly. "You can interrogate her later."

After a minute, he nodded slowly, his jaw locked. "Fine."

"Alright," Stark said. I looked over at him, still shaking from my bro—Steve's burst of anger. "Now that that's over, let me introduce myself. I'm Tony Stark, also known as Iron Man, you may have heard of me, I've been on the news quite a lot lately. The elf over there is Clint Barton—" he gesture to the man in black, glared at Stark. "And of course you're already acquainted with Ms. Romanoff."

"Of course," I said mockingly, pulling against Steve.

Stark ignored me, "Any questions?"

"Yes," I said, carefully keeping my eyes away from Steve's face. "Where's Banner?"

"Ah. That again," Natasha said, rolling her eyes, "Well—"

"I'm here," he said, walking into the room and rubbing his hands together. "Steve, you can let her go," he said quietly, "She's no threat to us."

He looked down at me, and then back over to him. "She broke into our home," he answered angrily. "You're not concerned by this?"

"She didn't break in," Bruce answered, "I brought her here."

"Why?" Natasha demanded, an angry flush coloring her cheeks.

"A man stabbed her and left her for dead in the street," he replied testily, carefully keeping his gaze away from mine. "What would you have done?"

She looked away and cleared her throat. "Although we now can agree that she didn't break in," she said, avoiding Bruce's question, "the fact that she attacked Stark still stands."

"Oh come _on_!" I yelled, pissed. I pulled harder against Steve, which merely antagonized him more. "I did not attack him! I just—"

"Flew into him?" she suggested innocently, folding her hands together. "Sent him flying into the wall?"

"It was a table, actually," I shot back, smiling innocently. Bruce smirked.

"So you admit to attacking him?" She said, blinking slowly.

"I admit to being provoked," I replied angrily, a sudden thought entering my head. _Why shouldn't I do the same trick twice_?

"Well," she started, "I—"

"You know," I said lazily, rolling my shoulder, "This has been fun, but I'd really rather be tracking down the man who tried to murder me. So if you excuse me—" I snapped out my wings, effectively lessening Steve's hold on me, and leapt up using my legs to push off Steve's chest and break his grip on my arms. I flipped backwards and hovered in the air above their heads, keeping a close eye on Thor. He was smiling, impressed. "Again, it was lovely meeting you guys, but I really to have to go."

Watching me carefully, Stark pressed a button on his wristwatch, and I frowned. "What are you doing?" Thor asked Stark, frowning.

"Just making sure she doesn't—" before the words were out of his mouth, I was hurtling towards the windows. I slammed into the glass at full speed, and to everyone's surprise, it shattered. I would have been home free, but I accidentally hit the glass headfirst.

I blacked out for almost ten seconds, and when I opened my eyes I was less than fifty feet from the street. People were pointing up at me, snapping pictures with their cell phones, and videoing me. I wouldn't have cared, but I was on the run from a bunch of psychotic scientists who wanted to experiment on me. I unfurled my wings and swooped upwards, missing the roof of a taxi by an inch. I flew upwards, intending to land on a roof, but the shine of sunlight on metal caught my eye, and I pushed off the side of a building just in time to avoid Stark, who was by now dressed up in his suit of armor.

I saw the rest of the group either jump out the newly broken window or, more sensibly, run out the front door. I rolled my eyes in exasperation as I hovered momentarily in the air. _Will these guys _ever_ give up?_

Suddenly a huge force slammed into me, making my wings buckle in on themselves. I saw the street rushing up to meet me, and I closed my eye and threw up my arms to protect my face right before slamming into someone's car. I rolled off the car and hit the street hard, unable to breathe. I pushed myself up on my hands and knees before falling onto my side, my lungs struggling to get oxygen. After what seemed like an eternity but what really was a few seconds, I gasped and air filled my lungs. Not wasting any time, I scrambled to my feet and began limping away. Everything shifted in and out of focus, making me stumble and fall multiple times. I didn't see or hear any of my pursuers, though. A stinging pain in my side stayed with me the entire time; the possibility that I had torn my stitches was looming over me.

I made it to a back alleyway nearly a mile from the Tower and collapsed on my hands and knees. I retched, bile rising in my throat, and I felt my stomach clench as vomit forced its way out of me, sliding out of my mouth and onto the pavement. I fell to the side and clung to the brick wall, trying to make my way as far from the tower as possible.

I managed to get to an alley a block away, but I still couldn't see straight. A shrill ringing was in my ears, and although it had faded, it still hindered my ability to catch anyone trailing me. After another block, my sight was normal and my hearing almost normal; I heard the sound of footsteps and froze, pressing my back to the rough brick wall. I frowned, fear growing inside me, and stepped back, looking around, scanning the rooftops for anyone. I took another step back and froze when I ran into someone. I jumped forward and spun around, my heart in my throat. Steve stood in front of me, his hands outstretched in a gentle and supplicative manner.

"Hey," he said, looking surprised to see me, "I just want to talk."


	3. Chapter 3

I looked around distrustfully, watching for any shadows or sounds. "Where—are the others?" I gasped, struggling to keep the tremors from my voice as I leaned against the wall to stand up. I pressed a hand to my side and drew it away to see that it was stained in blood; I quickly tucked it out of sight.

"They're on the other side out town by now," Steve replied, "but I had a feeling you'd be here." He paused, watching me carefully. "Okay?" He asked.

I bit my lip, trying to decide whether or not to trust him. "Okay."

He sat down on an overturned crate, and I did the same. It could have been the 40's again; we used to do this all the time and just talk. Granted, neither of us was wounded, and we each knew who the other was, but it seemed similar; it hurt.

"What do you want to talk about?" I asked, keeping a pressure on my side.

Steve and I sat a few feet apart, and I tapped my foot as I waited for his response. I began re-memorizing his features: the way his blonde hair swooped across the edge of his forehead; the way his eyes changed from grey to blue, like mine; the way his eyebrows scrunched together as he thought, and the way he stared at the ground as his mind formed a question. It was all so familiar, yet so foreign. It was as if you're suddenly living through a mirror after having lived in the real world your whole life; everything's in reverse, but everything's the same.

He finally looked up at me, his eyes meeting mine. "How do you know me?" he asked, frowning.

I sighed quietly and broke our gaze, staring down at the pavement, my eyes tracing the cracks in the concrete. _How could he not remember me?_ "You really don't remember?" I asked softly, glancing up at his face. He had been watching me closely, but he looked away when I looked up at him. Thunder rumbled softly above us, and the overcast sky was mirrored in his eyes.

"No," he answered, sighing tiredly. "No, I don't."

"Are you sure?" I asked, desperation growing inside me. I searched his face. _He must remember something…?_

"Yes. I'm sure." He answered far to quickly, and I knew he was lying.

My eyes widened a bit and I tensed, my whole body jerking a bit as I shifted positions. "You're lying," I said, tilting my head slightly.

"No I'm not," he said quickly.

"Tell me the truth!" I stood up, angry. "Don't lie to me, Steve!"

As his eyes met mine I felt a pang of caution and tensed up once again, suddenly realizing I could be in a trap. He remained silent, staring at the ground.

I turned, shaking out my wings. "Alright," I muttered, "Thanks for wasting my time." I crouched down, ready to launch myself into the sky, but his voice stopped me.

"Wait," he said, his voice tired, "Please, wait. I don't remember you." I turned and looked at him, not saying anything. "But I do remember something. Someone. I don't know it it's you or someone else, but I do remember something." Thunder rolled across the sky, much nearer now than it was before.

I remained standing as he looked back up at me, and as he stood I took a step back. I felt tense, knowing that someone could jump out at me and attack me at any moment. _ I have to know. _

He stopped speaking, and I felt my heart stop as all the hair on my body rose up. "No!" I jumped forward and tackled Steve to the ground as a bolt of lightning struck where I had just stood. The force of the blast knocked me into a brick wall, and I lay curled up on the ground for less than a minute, taking stock of my injuries and struggling to catch my breath.

I coughed as I stood, dust invading my lungs and making it nearly impossible to breathe. I couldn't see because of the grey cloud surrounding me, and all I could hear was a shrill ringing. I began coughing more and more violently, and as I drew my hand away from my mouth, I saw red stains covering it; I felt the taste of metal in my mouth. I looked down to see that my newly stitched wound had indeed torn open all the way, tearing through undamaged skin like scissors through tissue paper and sending warm blood gushing down my hip, soaking my pant leg and pooling in my shoe. I began stumbling away, using the brick wall as support. Black spots filled my vision, and I stopped, confused.

_What was I doing… _I felt my eyes roll back in my head as I crumpled to the ground, and I groaned as my head cracked against the concrete. I tried to push myself up, but I fell back, darkness taking over just as a pair of boots crossed in front of me.

-o-

I turned my head groggily and felt it loll to the side. My eyelids seemed to weigh a thousand pounds, and my head felt as if it were full of bricks. My mouth felt like it was full of cotton, and my skin felt gritty. My face was now resting on my hair, which fell over my shoulder. I recoiled at how crusty and greasy it was, and went to brush it away with my hand. I tried to lift my hand up, only to find it strapped down.

My eyes shot open as panic raced through my body like an electric charge. I tried my other arm, as well as my legs, and found that there were leather straps across my chest, hips, ankles, and wrists holding me down to a table. I began hyperventilating, my heart racing as suppressed memories boiled to the surface of my mind.

I began thrashing against the straps and started screaming at the top of my lungs. "_Help_! Please, let me out of here; help!" I was screaming so loudly that my throat nearly tore; I was hysteric. I clenched and unclenched my fists, sobbing and shrieking. Many people have felt phantom pain; where say you were shot or injured and years later will feel pain even though the injury's healed. Well I felt pain from years of torture; years of agony, and I couldn't escape it. It was engraved in me; a part of me. I screamed again and again, my only thought was to escape.

The sound of a door opening sent my panic to a greater peak as flashes of "doctors" experimenting on me flashed through my mind. I shrieked as the glint of a needle caught my eye, and began struggling wildly when a hand grabbed my arm. In the haze of panic, it was impossible to tell who it was about to inject me, but I didn't care who it was. All I wanted was to get free. I felt the needle enter my arm, and almost instantly I felt my body go limp. As I headed towards unconsciousness, I heard my brother's voice, and I closed my eyes as a tear fell from one, knowing that he wasn't going to help me, just as he couldn't help me before.

-o-

Steve lay awake in bed, not able to sleep. _Something about the girl—Katie—is so familiar… but I can't remember what._ Guilt and unease gnawed at him. _Even though I tricked her, she still saved my life by pushing me out of the way of Thor's ill aimed lightning bolt. I didn't mean to deceive her; I really did want to talk to her… I didn't know that Thor was going to try and shoot her. Something else… I feel… pity for her. I don't know why, though. Something in her eyes makes me uneasy; she has this fragmented air about her. As if she's a glass about to shatter. At the same time, though, she's like a cornered animal; like an eagle, maybe, or a wolf. Something that would fight to the death in the hopes that it might be free rather than face captivity. I just wish—_

His thoughts were interrupter by a shrill scream. He jumped and nearly fell out of bed; it sounded like someone was being tortured.

Katie.

Steve sprinted for the door, not bothering to throw on a shirt. "Worthless Stark equipment," he growled, waiting for the door to slide open. He punched it, hard, denting the metal. Grunting, he pushed it open enough to make it to the hallway, and he stumbled out unsteadily before rushing towards the labs. The screaming never stopped.

As he reached the door to the labs, the girl's screams cut off, and as he forced open yet another door, he saw Bruce pulling a needle from her arm. Steve stormed up to Bruce as he turned around, and it took all his willpower not to grab his shirt and slam him into the wall.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Steve growled, his hands clenched into fists. Katie was unconscious now, but he could see clearly where the straps holding her down had gouged into her skin. He shook in anger, and the urge to hit something grew stronger.

Bruce held up his hands as if to calm the Captain down; one of his hands still held a needle. That set him off. Steve turned around and slammed his fist into a stainless steel table, making a good-sized crater in the top. "She's a kid, Banner! Not an experiment! You can't just—"

He turned to see Bruce staring blankly at Katie, and his anger died when he saw how fragile she was. Her brown hair was matted with blood, and soot was smeared across her face. Tear tracks cut through the dust, making her appear much younger than she actually was. Steve placed his hand on hers, still shaking.

"Why is she here, Bruce?" he asked quietly.

"Natasha wanted—" he started.

"Natasha?" Steve repeated disbelievingly. "You're letting her call the shots?"

"Steve—"

"Maybe in a fight she can call the shots, but not here. Not when an innocent girl's life is on the line," he yelled.

"She's not innocent, Steve," Natasha said from behind the two men. They turned to see her standing, arms crossed, looking down at Katie.

"Sure," he said sarcastically. "And you know this how?"

"Research," she said calmly. "S.H.I.E.L.D."

"Of course," he breathed angrily, _because they know everything._

"She's about as innocent as all of us put together, actually," she said, sitting down on the table the Cap had just dented.

"What'd she do?" Bruce asked, removing his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Well for one, she's fought in even more wars than I have," she said, crossing her legs. "And she's killed more people than most could bear to hear about."

"How?" Steve asked. "She can't be more than sixteen—"

"Oh, she's much older than that, Steve," she said, pulling out a small glass screen. "In fact, she's only a bit younger than you."

"What?" he asked, completely confused.

"You were born in, what, 1920?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said, frowning, "How did you—?"

"She was born in 1927," she said, reading off a glowing glass pad, "in Brooklyn, New York. She father died soon after she was born, and her mother died when she was ten. She he had one brother, who was like a father to her and who protected her until he died in 1944. When she was seventeen, her brother St—" she stopped, her mouth falling open as her eyes scanned he rest of the account.

"What?" Steve asked, standing. "What is it?"

"Nothing," she said quickly. "I need to see Stark. It says here that she was friends with his father; maybe he can speak to her."

She walked quickly out of the room, leaving Bruce and Steve alone with Katie.

"What the hell was that?" he demanded.


	4. Chapter 4

-o-

_I ran into the room, cursing my skirt as I made a beeline for the microphone. One of my brother's friends stood behind the chair, the general next to him. Peggy was in the seat, talking to my brother._ _I could hear him talking to Peggy and I through the radio system. He sounded strong; like he always ha been; but he was afraid. "There's not gonna be a safe landing, but I can try and force it down."_

"_I'll-I'll get Howard on the line. He'll know what to do," Peggy stammered, frightened. Not much frightened her, and that this did scared me._

_My brother answered back instantly. "There's not enough time. This thing's moving too fast and it's heading for New York." There was a pause of about five seconds as he steeled himself to speak again. "I gotta put her in the water."_

_"No!" I murmured, realization dawning on me. "Steve, please don't do this. W-we have time. We can work it out." I was near tears, and so was Peggy._

_"Katie, right now I'm in the middle of nowhere. If I wait any longer a lot of people are gonna die. Katie, this is my choice." I turned away, my hand pressed against my lips as an icy fear gripped my heart. "I love you, Katie," he said._

_"I love you too," I whispered._

_"Peggy..." Steve said._

_Peggy leaned forward in her chair, as if she would be closer to him in doing so. "I'm here."_

_"I'm gonna need a rain check on that dance," he said. I choked and pressed my hand over my mouth, tears beginning to fall down my face. Peggy was silent for almost ten seconds as she composed herself enough to speak._

_She slumped forward, despair in her eyes, "All right. A week next Saturday at The Stork Club."_

_ Steve's breathing sped up. "You've got it."_

_"Eight o'clock on the dot. Don't you dare be late. Understood?" Peggy asked gently. I could see the fear and love in her eyes; she was in love with my brother, just as he was in love with her. She was crying, and he responded a few seconds later._

_"You know, I still don't know how to dance," he said. I was supposed to teach him how to dance. We never got the chance, but I was supposed to teach him for Peggy._

"_I'll show you how," She said softly, a pleading note in her voice, "Just be there."_

_ There was a break again, and I stood frozen as I waited for him to respond. _ _"We'll have the band play something slow," Steve said, and I moved forward to tell him I loved him one last time; to thank him for taking care of me; for being my rock. "I'd hate to step on your—"_

_His voice cut off, giving way to static. I froze. My heart stopped as I stared in shock as the microphone my hand was inches from touching. H-he can't be gone. He can't, he—_

_ "Steve?" she said, her voice catching. She tried to say his name again, but nothing came out. " Steve?" she choked._

_I felt my heart begin beating again. "Steve!" she cried._

_ I was in too much shock to cry his name; I couldn't move. My brother—he couldn't be gone. It's impossible. He promised. He promised he wouldn't leave me._

_Peggy began sobbing silently, and I turned and ran, not sure where I was going._

-o-

I stared up at the ceiling, the memory of that awful day playing in my mind. Cool tears fell down my face; my restrained hands cold not wipe them away. The only light came from the glowing blue computer screens, and from the shaft of moonlight streaming in through the window.

-o-

_I walked around in a haze, not sure exactly where I was going. I ran into people several times, not paying any attention as to where I went. I passed groups of men laughing, small groups of women talking quietly about their husbands or loves._

_I felt numb. I have no one to talk about. The man I love is dead. My brother is dead. My parents are dead. I have no one. No one is left._

_I could feel my emotions building up behind the façade I held, and I sped up. Now I remember. The door. I have to get outside. I have to see the sky._

"_Katie!"_

_I ignored the one pursuing me and began running. The footsteps behind me sped up, so I did as well. My legs ached, my lungs burned, sweat poured down my face, blurring my sight. The pain felt good; and rage fueled my flight till I reached the doors._

_ It wasn't until later I realized that it was grief, not rage, that spurred me on._

_ I shoved the door open and stood in the icy air, letting its cool fingers turn my sweat and tears to ice. I heard more voices behind me, and I began sprinting again, not knowing where I was going. What did it matter? I was alone. There was no one left to help me; no one left to care. So I ran._

-o-

I don't know how long I've been down here; it could've been a week; maybe more, maybe less. No one has come to visit me, and I haven't had anything to eat or drink in a long time. I have an IV drip, though. I haven't had to go to the restroom, either. It's unnatural, like what happened to me before. Like I am. I'm not natural; I'm almost a hundred years old, but I haven't aged a day in over seventy years.

My wings were pinned down just like the rest of my limbs, my normally white feathers now limp and dirty. I haven't felt the wind in forever—that was the worst. When Steve crashed, the thing that kept me sane was the sky. Seeing it—knowing that it was there. I had been on a mountain, closer to the sky than, at the time, I had ever been.

But now that I have wings… the sky is a part of me. It's a part of who I am. So being away from it for so long, well… it was worse torture than the pain of receiving my wings was.

I stared up blankly at the ceiling as the door slid open. I don't want to see anyone, and I don't want anyone to see me like this. I hate being weak, so being strapped down, helpless, was humiliating and terrifying. I won't even bother mentioning the state of my hair.

I closed my eyes as the intruder dragged a chair over to my table to sit down next to me. I shivered a bit—partly from cold, partly from fear.

"Your cuts are healing up pretty well," Bruce said, "But they're pretty deep still, so you shouldn't do anything to overexert yourself till they heal."

I didn't move. _ Is this some kind of joke?_

"Your wing," he said, lightly running his hand over the primary feathers of my left wing, "was broken when the lightning hit. I'm not completely sure how; maybe a brick or piece of shrapnel hit it… do you know?"

I didn't answer. Not out of spite—my voice gave out days ago from screaming. Though if I could speak, I don't know if I'd want to.

"Katie," Bruce lowered his voice as if sharing a secret, placing his head next to mine. I could feel his breath on my skin. "Natasha contacted S.H.I.E.L.D."

My eyes snapped open, and I strained against my bonds, my heart racing like a bird's.

"Hey—hey, calm down," he said quietly, placing his hand on my shoulder and looking around nervously. "She didn't get through to Fury. He's busy with some new recruits; she said something about a plane crash. No one was hurt, but he still needed to check it out." He stopped for a moment to let me take it all in. "The point is that S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn't know about you yet."

_Yet._

"Here's the tricky part," he said, "Now, Natasha wants you locked up till S.H.I.E.L.D. can answer her call, but Thor and Steve helped me to convince her to loosen the reins a bit. However…" he trailed off as if unsure how to continue. I raised my eyebrows at him. "You'd have to wear these," he said, reaching under the table and pulling out a pair of handcuffs. The thing about the cuffs is that they weren't normal; a blue light hung about them, making the lines on Bruce's face stand out in sharp contrast against his otherwise smooth skin.

I recoiled, trying to get as far away from the cursed weapon as I could. Not that I could go anywhere. "No," I breathed, my throat burning, "Hydra—"

"Hydra?" Bruce repeated, looking down at them, frowning.

"Tesseract—weapon—" I choked.

He looked down at the cuffs, the look in his eyes displaying his disgust for them.

"You don't have to wear them," he said, looking angry at himself for suggesting it.

"How long will I be here if I don't?" I asked, knowing the answer. He didn't respond, and I closed my eyes. "I'll wear them if you… if you hold the key."

He looked up at me quickly. "You sure?"

I nodded, and he slowly undid the leather tie on my wrist, snapping the cuffs on snuggly before doing the same with my right hand. I moved to sit up as he undid the restraints on the rest of my body. Once I was free, he helped me off the table, but as soon as my feet touched the floor, my knees buckled, and he stood supporting me as I struggled to find my footing.

"Do you want to clean up?" he asked. "You're covered in blood."

I nodded, and he brought me to a bathroom attached to the lab. He undid the cuffs, telling me that he'd put them back on after I showered.

"There's a shower in here; there are towels, and a fresh change of clothes for you," he said. "You okay?"

I nodded and slowly made my way into the bathroom. After locking the door and peeling the blood-stiff clothes from my body, I maneuvered my way into the shower, turning it on hot and lying down on my side on the tile. As I lay there, eyes closed, I remembered my love, and how he would take me to our special hill, where we would lie beside each other and look up at the stars. As the warm water washed over me, washing away the stains of death, I remembered how he held me in his arms, how he promised never to let me go. I could almost feel his arms around me, holding me close to his chest. I could hear his voice.

His voice, fading away as he fell away from me. _I remember how he fell—I was there, I couldn't do anything, I—_

I made a strangled, choking, gasping noise as tears began falling down my face to the bottom of the tub. There was nothing I could do, nothing I could have done. I blamed myself for his death every day.


	5. Chapter 5

I sat at the bottom of the tub, staring at my wrists as the shower rinsed the purple conditioner from my hair. I hatebeing confined more than anything.

I stood slowly, blinking spots out of my eyes as I positioned my feet under me. I lathered soap onto my hands and slowly ran them down my body, feeling the way whatever fat I had previously had was now gone along with much of my muscle. Running my hands over my thighs and down my knees to my feet, I realized just how badly I had been injured. Not only was my left leg still bruised from my knee injury, my stomach, sides, and back were laced with stitches, which made me feel sick. Added to those injuries were the ones mottling my arms from my years of enslavement. I felt like some sort of monster, like Frankenstein. I felt bile rise in my throat as I ran my hands over the thread stretching from the bottom left of my ribcage to my right hip. Doubling over, I retched, but nothing came up except a sharp, stinging taste in the back of my throat.

I turned and allowed the soap to be washed from my body, and once I was done, I stepped out of the shower, not bothering yet to turn the water off. I managed to wrap a towel around myself, and I stood in front of the mirror, watching my reflection as I massaged more conditioner into my hair to dry. Leaning close to the mirror, I touched a strand of my hair; it was like a backwards ombre—it started out a reddish-blonde and ended in dark brown. I sighed and searched through the cabinets, hoping to find more brown dye. I was not expecting to find dye remover. Biting my lip, I read over the instructions and, letting the towel drop, stepped back into the shower. I began coating my hair in the clear gel, watching as streams of dark brown dye drizzled from my hair and were rinsed down the drain. I continued for another quarter of an hour, waiting until all traces of dye were gone. Finally.

I turned off the water and re-wrapped my body in a fresh towel. Re-applying the conditioner, I wrapped my hair in a third towel before turning to the door. A pile of clean clothes sat neatly on the floor.

I hesitantly picked them up and set them on the counter, looking through them. They included, besides the obvious womanly things, a white running shirt, dark blue jeans, brown hiking boots, and a brown leather jacket. To my delight, there also was a small pile of bobby pins.

I dressed quickly, using up all but a few of the bobby pins. I smiled, placing several in my pocket. It takes longer for me to actually open a door normally than to pick a lock. I took a deep breath and opened the door, surprising Bruce, who had been about to knock.

"Hey… are you done?" he asked.

I nodded. My throat still killed from those panic attacks. He gently put the cuffs back on my wrists, making them secure but not too tight.

"Do you want to go see the others?" He asked nervously.

I hesitated, biting my lip as I looked away. I finally looked back up at him, my eyes searching his. He reached out to place his hand on my shoulder, but I recoiled. I don't trust men. I never have, and I never will. I take that back; there were a few I trusted, a long time ago. But they're gone now.

"I'm sorry. Are you ready?" he asked.

I didn't answer, just started limping for the door, leaving him to follow. He stepped up to me and put hand on my arm. I tried to pull away, but he stopped me.

"You can't walk," he reminded me. "You really want to try and find your way through Stark's tower alone?" I looked down, finally relenting and letting him lead me out of the room and to the others.

-o-

"Well, look what the cat dragged in," Natasha said, looking up at me as I entered the main room. "Sad to see that you're all… tied up."

I bit my lip and lowered my head, letting my reddish blonde hair fall into my burning face.

"Natasha," Bruce said sharply, his grip tightening a bit. "That's enough."

She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, another voice reach my ears. "Bruce?" Steve strode into the room, Thor right behind him. I looked up, unable to help myself.

His stormy eyes met mine, and I looked away, staring at the floor as my eyes began to sting. _Don't cry, don't cry—he doesn't matter anymore, he's as gone as the rest of them, he—_

"Katie?" he asked.

I froze, my heart hammering in my chest. _He said he didn't remember, he said—_

"Can we talk?"

_Steve's gone, he's gone, he's not here, this isn't him, he's not—_

"Katie," he said gently. I looked up at him as a sudden wave of anger crashed into me. I staring into his eyes, expecting to give him a look of betrayal and pain he wouldn't ever forget, but I was stopped cold by what I saw.

He had bags under his eyes, stubble covering his cheeks. His voice sounded tired, and he looked like he would fall over at any moment. But his eyes… There was a struggle there. I could see it. A struggle between what he remembered and what he knew to be true. He knew who I was, but his memory—or lack of, rather—opposed him.

"Steve," I whispered, unable to help myself.

"Katie, I need to talk to you," he said, sounding desperate.

I nodded slowly, my eyes never leaving his. "Alright."

-o-

I sat on the couch, staring down at the feather-soft throw I was currently messing with. I pulled a stray feather from it and winced. Something about having wings makes down comforters less appealing.

"I want to say that I'm sorry," Steve said softly. I said nothing, but sat still, turning the small feather over and over in my hand. I paused for a moment and stared down at the purity ring adorning my left ring finger. Steve gave it to me a lifetime ago; when he found out I was in love. Just to make sure I didn't forget who I was. "I didn't know that they were going to hurt you, I just…" his voice faltered. "I didn't…"

I didn't move. I didn't want him to see how much I was hurting, so I said nothing.

"Please, Katie," he said, his voice a whisper. "Please talk to me." I stared down at my hands, my eyes stinging. I blinked rapidly to keep the tears of anger back, but I couldn't. "I want to help you." I took a deep breath, hoping to calm myself down, but it was shaky, and when I let it out, a sob followed. I pulled the blanket to my face, struggling to contain myself, but I couldn't.

I felt his hand touch my shoulder, as I flinched away from his hand, partially out of habit and partially out of fear.

"Hey; you're going to be alright," he said softly. I don't think I've ever heard his voice this soft before. "You—" he stopped. "Where did you get that ring?"

I lifted up my head as he pulled my left hand towards him, shaking as he intently studied my hand. His fingers trailed over mine, and a confused look crossed his face. "My brother gave it to me," I whispered. "A long, long time ago."

-o-

I lay on a bed in my new room, staring up at the ceiling. I was pretty much on house arrest; even if I weren't, I couldn't get out of here. Steve left after I revealed that my brother gave me the ring, and Natasha had escorted me back here. That was three days ago.

I stood at the window, looking out at the river. It was dusk; the dim lighting made it impossible to tell how filthy the river was. Closing my eyes, it wasn't difficult to imagine New York in my time, seventy years ago. Looking down from fifty stories up, most wouldn't have been able to see much, but I could.

I shuddered. Sometimes I feel that I would rather be wingless and blind then be standing here, hawk-eyed and winged, knowing that someone is after me who wants to experiment on me again.

I heard a yelp come from the street below me. Looking down, the five hundred feet seemed like five, and I watched as a man, covered in black from head to toe, began beating up a boy, who looked to be my age. Well, the age I looked anyways. I panicked and rushed to the door, trying to force it open. I'd have more luck telling a mountain to move out of my way. I pulled a bobby pin from my hair and shoved it into the cuffs, twisting it into the place the key was supposed to go. All the while, my sharp ears heard the sounds of the boy being hurt. I glanced at the clock; barely fifteen seconds had passed.

I growled in frustration; the cuffs weren't coming off. I tossed the bobby pin under the bed as I began struggling to open the window. Adrenaline pumped through my body, enough to make me throw open the window and leap out of it without a second thought to my broken wing.

The first three hundred feet, I was in a free fall, but the last two hundred or so, I was pointed straight down like a missile, aiming straight for the man, who held a knife to the boy's throat.

I screamed as I ploughed into the man, sending both of us to the ground. Gasping, I lay on my back, struggling to get air. I had landed on my wing and I could feel sharp pain sizzling up my it and into my back. My wings somehow ended up tucked under me, which was a problem.

I heard heavy footsteps and saw the man stride into my line of sight. He had shoulder length brown hair and wore a mask that covered the bottom half of his face, keeping all but his eyes and forehead hidden from sight. He knelt down and straddled my waist, pulling a knife from his belt as he did so. He brought it down quickly towards my neck, but I blocked it, catching the blade on my handcuffs. He grabbed ahold of them, forcing my arms above my head and pinning them to the ground. I struggled, whimpering with pain as he brought the edge of the blade to my neck and pressed it my throat.

I struggled against him and finally met his eyes, which were the only things visible to me because of the mask. Instantly I froze, and his grip slackened as my struggles ceased. Without a thought I yanked my arms free and slammed my cuffed wrists against the side of his head, knocking off the mask. Unfortunately, the blow barely fazed him, and he pinned me to the ground again, his face drawn in anger.

"Bucky?" I gasped, my voice a hoarse whisper. I couldn't believe it. I had to be dreaming—but my heart knew this was real, all too real. The man I loved was pinning me to the ground, a knife to my throat, and I was in complete shock.

His expression didn't change. "Who the hell's Bucky?"

I didn't answer, but continued to struggle, trying to get him and his knife off of me. He aimed a punch towards my head but I twisted out of the way just in time. Fear gripped my heart when I caught a glimpse of the crater caused by his metal arm punching through concrete.

He narrowed his eyes and it occurred to me that he was toying with me. He could have killed me minutes ago, but for whatever reason he was keeping me alive.

I managed to reach up with my legs and grip his neck, throwing him off me. I kicked up and landed on my feet, facing him. He stood still, watching me with some form of sick amusement. The boy was lying still on the ground, unconscious or dead, I didn't know.

"You've lost your edge, Barnes," I taunted, referring to the times we'd go out and spar while at boot camp. It was a wonder we never were caught. He taught me everything he knew, and I at the time had been even better than he when it came to hand-to-hand combat. Now… I guess we'd have to wait and see.

Faster than most could process, he came at me, intending to plunge a switchblade into my torso. I ducked to the side and grabbed his wrist, forcing it over my head as I swung around behind him. In half a second he was coming at me again, his face eerily expressionless. The edge of the blade caught my shoulder and I cried out, leaping back to avoid being slashed across the chest.

Taking advantage of my unbalance, the soldier leaped forward and slammed his elbow into the side of my head, knocked me to the ground. He pinned me there, his metal hand gripping my throat and cutting off the majority of my oxygen supply. A strange combination of panic, relief, and anger surged through me, and I glared up at the man I loved in defiance. A tear ran down my cheek as I stared into Bucky's eyes, but he didn't tighten or loosen his grip. He could easily have crushed my windpipe, but he didn't. He just sat there, unmoving, leaving me enough air to speak but not nearly enough to survive longer than a few minutes.

"What are you waiting for," I gasped, my hands tugging uselessly at his metal arm. "Kill me."

His other hand, which still gripped the switchblade, rose up and hovered above my chest. I closed my eyes and waited for the final blow.

It never came.

I heard a _thud_ and I opened my eyes as Bucky fell onto me, unconscious. The boy James had tried to kill stood behind him, holding a brick and looking shocked at what he had just done.

I struggled to get out from under him, and the boy snapped out of his trance, helping to move Bucky's body. When I finally managed to get free, we stood over him, silent. More tears streamed down my face, and I covered my mouth to muffle the sobs threatening to spill from my lips.

"Who is he?" the boy asked in a British accent. I glanced at him, surprised, and looked him over quickly before turning back to the man I had loved. The boy's bright blue eyes were wide and his light brown hair was tousled. He stood a few inches taller that I, and he was undeniably attractive, although my attention was completely held by the man on the ground in front of me.

"He—I, I used to know him," I whispered, taking a shuddering breath. "A long time ago."

"But he tried to kill you," he said. "Why—oh, gosh, you're hurt!"

He touched my shoulder with his hand and pulled it away, stained with blood. I raised my hands to cover it up and for the fist time he noticed my cuffed wrists.

"Why are you…" he trailed off, frowning at the glowing cuffs, but I knew what he was asking.

"I, uh…" I spread my wings, wincing as the injured one moved, and his eyes widened. He reached out and touched one, his fingers gently brushing my feathers.

"Oh," he whispered, wonder in his voice. He looked down at me, eyes alight with excitement, "You're like me."

"What?" I frowned, my voice a bit stronger. "What do you mean you're like me?"

"I mean, I don't have wings, but I have abilities, like you do," he said. He held out his hand for me to take. "I'm Eli."

I held up my cuffed wrists, reminding him that I couldn't shake hands. "Katie."

"What are you doing out here?" he asked, gesturing to the street. "Out in the open?"

"Saving you," I answered. "I saw you getting hurt, and I didn't want you t-to…" I stammered to a stop, freezing. The light in my room had turned on, and I could hear voices shouting. They knew I had escaped. Although technically I hadn't really escaped, I had gone on a rescue mission, I had a feeling that they would look at me the same way. Through the scope of a rifle.

"What?" Eli cocked his head, looking up. "Who are…" his eyes widened in realization. "You escaped from them," he said. "You're in trouble." I nodded, worried, watching as more lights flickered on.

My sharp eyes caught sight of Clint standing in the open window, an arrow nocked and aimed at me. His blue eyes met mine, and I felt my blood go cold. Without thinking I grabbed Eli's hand, pulling him along with me into the darkness. I pulled my wings in close, wincing when the injured one was jolted.

_Hawkeye never misses. We need to get away._

"Where are we going?" Eli asked, running beside me.

"I don't know," I admitted tersely. "Away?"

"Follow me," he said, taking ahold of my hand and pulling me around a corner. We raced across streets and alleys, careful to stay out of the light.

"We're almost there," he whispered ten minutes later. We were much closer to the Tower than I liked.

"What are we doing here?" I whispered back, outraged. "They live right there!" I pointed to the Tower for emphasis.

"I know," he answered quietly. "But the last place they would look is right under their nose." I nodded and followed him around the Tower to a much smaller building. Noting my hesitation, he turned to me. "Come on," he said. "I'll protect you."

I raised my eyebrows. "I actually recall having to protect you," I pointed out, not trusting this boy enough to place my life into his hands just yet.

He shrugged and looked over at the Tower worriedly. "Then I owe you. Trust me; you need help."

I sighed and followed him inside, impressed by his persuasive skills as much as they annoyed me.

There was no one awake in the apartment building, so our hike was completely unhindered. I did have a feeling that he was unhappy with me, though, since I make us take the stairs instead of the elevator. When we finally reached the penthouse, he opened the door and let me in before closing and locking it behind him.

The entire back wall of the apartment was covered in bows, quivers of arrows, knives, guns, and ammunition. I nodded, both surprised and impressed.

"Impressive," I said quietly, standing in the middle of the room.

He nodded, taking off his jacket. "Thanks." His eyes flickered from mine to my shoulder, and his eyes widened. "Let's get you cleaned up," he said. He left for a moment, and then came back with a wet cloth and a first aid kit. He sat me down on the couch and slowly pulled down the sleeve of my shirt, exposing my injured shoulder. He glanced up at me as he wetted the cloth with Hydrogen Peroxide, "This may sting a little," he said before dabbing gently at the cut, wiping away the blood. I hissed in pain and tried to jerk away, but Eli had a firm grip on my arm preventing my escape.

Looking around for something to distract me from the pain in my shoulder, I began putting the details together, trying to figure out the big picture of this boy. First were his eyes, which were the same color as Clint's. Next was his impressive armory, consisting mostly of bows and switchblades. Add those to his 'special abilities,' and you have a much younger Hawkeye.

"You're Clint's brother," I said softly. He tensed for a moment and the hand gripping my arm tightened, and then relaxed. "It's okay," I said, trying to reassure him. "I'm not going to hurt you."

He nodded, moving his concentration back to my slashed shoulder. "I know you're not. I also know that you're Steve's sister." My head whipped up, eyes wide, and my eyes met his. A slight smile played on his lips as he cleared away the rest of the blood and reached for some thread to stitch up my wound. "It's okay," he said, cleaning off the needle with rubbing alcohol. "Everyone keeps secrets. This will hurt," he added, holding up the threaded needle. "Are you sure?"

I nodded. "How did you know?" I asked, gritting my teeth as the needle entered my flesh.

He chuckled softly. "Well, besides the fact that you look just like him," he said, stitching up the ugly cut with the skill of someone much older then he himself. "My brother showed my his files once; you were in them." I yelped as he tugged on the thread to tighten it; he had to drop the needle to keep the thread from ripping through the skin. "Don't move."

"But…" I wasn't scared of Eli; a part of my natural born abilities was that I could tell when someone was going to hurt me, and Eli wasn't. However, if there were a bunch of files floating around with my name plastered on them, shouldn't Steve have seen them by now?

"I ran from S.H.I.E.L.D. because they wanted to hurt me," Eli said softly, tying off the end of the stitching and reaching for a roll of gauze. "I've been running ever since."

I thought about how Clint didn't shoot me, even when he had a clear shot. "That's why he didn't shoot me," I said softly, looking over at the young man in front of me. "He saw you."

He nodded, gently wrapping my shoulder with the bandage. "I haven't seen my brother in years," he said. "But if it means that I'm free, the price is fair."

I nodded as he smoothed the end of the gauze down and dropped his hands, exhausted. He took off the surgical gloves and handed me a two pairs of painkillers and a water bottle. "Thank you," I said gratefully, taking and downing them.

"Of course," he said. He paused, looking unusually shy for someone who just performed surgery on the one they were speaking to. "Uh, would you like to stay here?" He asked, then rushed to clarify. "Just until your wing heals, and until you know it's safe to get away?"

I smiled back. "I'd like that."


	6. Chapter 6

I opened the blinds the next morning and peered out. The sky was overcast, the clouds a deep purple, and thunder rolled overhead. There was no rain yet, but it looked like it could start pouring any second. I looked up at Stark Tower to see Thor standing at the top, his hammer pointed at the sky. .

I shook my head, smiling. He's looking in the wrong place. I can't fly, and he knows that. My eyes widened. _Of course they know you can't fly; Thor is there as a precaution. The others should be searching for you on foot._

I looked down to see Natasha and Steve on the street below going door-to-door looking for me.

I felt a hand on my shoulder, and I jumped as Eli pulled me back from the window, closing the blinds. "Katie, what are you doing?" he asked, clearly questioning my sanity.

I was shaking badly, and I was terrified. "Th-they're here," I said, shaking. "Natasha and Steve—th-they're in the street, they—"

A knock at the door made both of us freeze and turn towards it. My hands were still cuffed together; Eli and I had stayed up till three in the morning trying to get them off, but nothing had worked. I looked around for a way out, but since the door wasn't an option and I couldn't fly, I had nothing.

"You stay here," Eli murmured, shouldering a quiver and grabbing a bow off the wall. I grabbed a pair of switchblades, sticking one in my belt and keeping a firm grip on the other.

"What do you plan on doing with that?" he asked, exasperated.

"I plan on fighting," I shot back. "You?"

"Just stay here," he said, turning towards the door.

I followed behind him, ignoring his orders. He gave me an exasperated look and made his way to the door. A knock sounded again.

He turned to me, his blue eyes bright. "One," he mouthed, "two, three."

He threw open the door, an arrow knocked on his bow, and both of us froze when we saw Clint standing there, an arrow aimed at Eli's heart. Clint looked a bit surprised to see his brother, and I couldn't blame him; I knew how it felt to see someone after such a long time; someone you never thought you'd ever see again.

"Clint," I said sharply, drawing his attention to me. He aimed his arrow at me, and Eli growled angrily.

"No," Eli said, stepping in front of the arrow. "You're not going to hurt her."

Clint glanced behind him, stepped inside, and shut the door, locking it behind him. Eli and I looked at each other, confused, as Clint sheathed his bow.

"What are you two doing here?" he asked, speaking more towards me than Eli. "Especially you," he said, pointing to me. Well there you go.

"Hiding," I said, sitting down on the couch. "Was that not obvious?"

"I mean," he said irritably, "Why here? Katie, you can fly. You should be a hundred miles away by now."

"My wing," I said. "I broke it when you ambushed me, and I re-broke it saving your brother."

Clint studied my carefully. "I'm sorry, but thank you," he said. "What did you save him from, exactly? There's not much that could take him down."

I resisted the urge to look over at Eli. "I don't know," I said. "A man in black?"

"Did you recognize him?" he asked.

"No," I lied. "No, I didn't."

I ignored Eli, though I could feel his gaze burning holes in the side of my head.

"Are you sure?" Clint urged. I stood, my hands still cuffed in front of me, and strode to the window. I peered through the crack in the curtains and felt my heart stop as Natasha pointed to our building. She and Steve strode towards it, determined.

"They're coming," I said, ignoring him. "Natasha and Steve; they're here."

"What?" Clint and Eli stood, mirroring each other's movements.

"They're about to come into the building," I said, beginning to shake. "Eli—is there any way out?"

He shook his head, worried. "Not unless you can fly."

"Sorry to disappoint," I said, looking around for some way out. Clint stood, watching me closely. _Clint. _ "You," I gasped, pointing my hands out to him. "Tell them I'm not here!"

"What?" he asked.

"You're here," I pointed out desperately, "searching for us. Tell them that you didn't find us."

Eli smiled at me. "Katie," he said, "You're a genius."

I grinned back, "Thanks. Clint, please?" I begged, my grin sliding off my face. If he said no…

"Alright," he said, placing his hand on my shoulder. "For you, and for Eli."

"Why for me?" I asked, biting my lip.

"No kid deserves to be locked up," he answered. He clapped his other hand on Eli's shoulder and brought him to stand next to me. He looked from me to him, his blue eyes alert. "Take care of each other," he said. "I know you're a few years apart," I grinned, and a smile flashed across his face. "But you both are very similar. I think that you two could escape. Run away. I'll help as much as I can, but I can't directly defy S.H.I.E.L.D. You know this." I nodded. He turned to Eli. "I'm sorry I couldn't be the brother you wanted," he whispered. "But I do love you, Elijah, and I will protect you. Both of you."

Eli nodded.

"Clint?" I asked. He turned to me. "Do you know how to get these off?"

He shrugged. "The key, if you have it."

"I don't."

"Did you try using bobby pins?"

I raised my eyebrows at him. "First thing I tried."

"Well… looks like you're gonna have to get the key. Who has it? Tasha?

Stark?"

"Bruce, actually," I said softly.

Eli interrupted suddenly, his eyes wide. "You have to go. They're a couple floors down, but it won't take long for them to get here."

Clint nodded. "Katie, find Bruce. Get the key. Stay away from Stark and Tasha. Don't let S.H.I.E.L.D. find you. You know Nick Fury?"

A brief memory of me scratching his face flashed through my mind. "We've met," I said carefully.

"Well stay away from him," he said, unlocking the door. "I don't know if he knows about you yet, but if you've met, I'm guessing he's already after you." I nodded, a lump in my throat. He opened the door. "Hide, both of you," he said. "And good luck."

He closed the door quietly behind him, and Eli grabbed my arm, pulling me towards the bedroom.

"Where are we going?" I asked in a whisper, my eyes wide.

"Under the bed," he whispered back. "At least, you are. I'm staying up here. If something goes wrong—" he stopped, listening. His eyes widened. "They know something's up." He pushed me to the ground and under the bed. "Don't make a sound," he whispered. He climbed into a wardrobe and shut the door partway, leaving it cracked so he could shoot through it. The front door creaked open, and I curled into a ball, making sure no blue light could be seen. Wait. I began putting the pieces together, a chill creeping down my spine.

_Light._

_ Radiation._

_ Gamma rays._

_Bruce is an expert on radiation, as well as tracking it._

_There's a reason they used these cuffs._

_They're tracking me._

Cold sweat coated my body at this realization, and I felt my blood turn to ice as the doorknob rattled.

"Someone's in here," Natasha said quietly. I looked over at Eli from my position under the bed, trying to get his attention. His intense gaze was leveled at the door, and I returned my gaze to it as well.

"You think it's her?" Steve asked. I clenched my hands into fists, anger making my body heat up despite the chills coursing through me.

"Who else could it be?" she responded sharply. The doorknob rattled again. My breathing picked up as my body clenched in fear, and I looked up at Eli in time to see him release an arrow from his bow, aimed straight for the door. The arrow hit the edge of the door at full force, wedging it shut, and Eli leaped out of the wardrobe, dragged me out from under the bed, and ran to the window, pulling my behind him.

He slammed his bow into the glass, shattering it, and stood up on the windowsill, looking down at the grass two hundred feet below him. This window faced the river; there wasn't a street below us, but that didn't mean it wouldn't hurt. He turned to look at me, noting my hesitation.

Because who wouldn't want to jump out of the window of a twenty story building with a broken wing?

"Come on, Katie," he said, holding out his hand. "Trust me."

I could hear Steve's grunts of effort as he repeatedly kicked the door, but I was frozen in place. "Eli—" I started, my voice much higher than usual. I was hyperventilating, panicking.

He looked behind me, his blue eyes widening, and I whipped my head around to see what had startled him. As I turned my head, the door flew inwards with a crash, the wood around the knob splintered into a thousand pieces. Steve stumbled through the doorway, and his eyes met mine for a moment before I felt Eli's hand close around my elbow, and felt my body being pulled out the window into a free fall.

"No!" I screamed, feeling my heart leap into my throat as I twisted my body to face the ground. I grabbed Eli's hand with both my own, which were still cuffed together. "Don't let go!" I yelled, the wind roaring in my ears. Fifty feet up, I braced myself and thrust my wings out to catch the wind and slow us down. I knew it would hurt, but I didn't know it would hurt as badly as it did.

I spread my wings, and as soon as I did, the wind jerked them up, slowing us down for a split second before something went wrong. Instead of pulling the two of us up, like what normally would've happened, the wind yanked up my right wing and caused my left to crumple in on itself, sending Eli and I into a spiral. A crazy thought popped into my head: that the only good thing was that this slowed us down, so that when we finally would hit, it wouldn't hurt as much.

We landed hard on the rocky ground next to the river, me hitting first. Eli was thrown over my head onto the rocks behind me. I landed with my wings on either side of me, but agony flooded my body, making the air taste of iron and making my mouth taste like blood. All I could hear was a shrill ringing in my ears.

I saw Natasha and Steve watching us from the window, but as I looked up at them, they disappeared, undoubtedly to come down and catch us.

Something's wrong though… the building's red. The sky's red… everything's red; the color of blood. I tried moving, but couldn't even turn my head. White-hot pain raced up my spine, and my stomach twisted as I realized that my back or my neck was most likely broken.

I couldn't move.

I couldn't escape.

I heard Eli moan from behind me, and then he screamed in pain, the terrible sound cutting through the ringing in my ears. I heard his body hit the ground again. I felt my heart break as his agonized scream died away, replaced by his ragged breathing.

I couldn't move. I make a choked sound like a wounded animal and let out a sob. For some reason, no one was around, but I knew that Steve and Natasha would be here soon, and that Eli and I would be handed over to S.H.I.E.L.D. to be experimented on again.

My sob turned into a keening wail. I didn't even care. I was too far-gone to care. _You've been fighting for so long… _A soft voice at the back of my mind murmured, _maybe it's time you give up the fight; pass it on to someone else._

That's the spark that ignited my fury again. _No one else will bear my burden, _a stronger voice—my voice—replied,_ No one else deserves to go through what I did, and I will not leave this world until the bastards responsible for all this are gone._

My wail turned into a scream as I began forcing my body to respond. I couldn't move yet, but it hurt—that's better than nothing.

I tried to move but was still unable to do so. White-hot pain arched up my spine with every ragged breath. My hands remained cuffed in front of me; the force of the fall hadn't broken them. To be honest, that really pissed me off.

Clint suddenly appeared in my vision, Bruce right behind him.

Well. Wasn't expecting that.

Bruce knelt and took a key from his pocket, forcing it into the cuffs and removing them from my wrists.

"Bruce, we have two minutes tops," Clint said tensely. "You get Katie, I'll get Eli. Go; I'll meet you there."

Bruce nodded and picked me up, grimacing when I screamed in pain. "Got it."

Clint stood, Eli's body thrown over his shoulder. "Run."

-o-

Bruce came to the safe house and made his way inside; Clint wasn't here yet, which surprised him. The archer usually would've beaten him here.

He set Katie down on a couch; she had passed out while they ran here. She was surprisingly light, so he didn't have a hard time carrying her, but it was hard because she was obviously injured and he couldn't tell how badly she was hurt.

Banner went to his desk and looked through the serums and medicines there, searching for one that would wake Katie up and dull the pain she felt. He couldn't help but wonder how she had survived this long; he had known her for a few weeks and in that time she had received more injuries than he could count. How many times had she been hurt before?

He heard her groan from the couch and began moving faster, sifting through piles of notes, different colored pills and vials, and different medicines and vaccines. He finally found what he was looking for: a small vial, which contained a clear tonic, called the _infinity formula. _He had discovered it when going through Howard Stark's notes; apparently it had been used on Steve and another unnamed subject back in the 40's. The goal was to slow down aging; it had worked on Steve for sure, but this was a diluted serum. He wasn't sure what it would do, exactly, but he had tampered with it, and he believed that it could heal injuries. Maybe not the kind of "snapped-in-half" injuries, like a shattered femur or a lost limb, but, say, a broken bone? Sure. At least, he thought so. And based on the way Katie couldn't move… the infinity serum seems like her best bet.

The scientist frowned in concentration as he inserted a needle into the vial, filling it partially full and carefully setting the beaker aside. He had a good amount of the formula, but wanted to be careful. Between her and Eli, and between the people the Hulk could hurt… he couldn't be too careful.

He knelt down next to her and wiped a spot on her neck with an antiseptic wipe before inserting the needle in her neck and emptying the contents into her bloodstream.

As he stepped back, her body went rigid as if she had received an electric shock, and the door crashed open as she began to scream.

-o-

I'm completely aware that I passed out at some point when Bruce was carrying me to the safe house. I'm also pretty aware that I broke either my neck or back.

I was having a pleasant dream when I felt a _very _familiar pain course through my body. Here's the thing: back when I was younger, like seventy years ago, I was injected with this thing called the "infinity formula". While I was a prisoner/lab rat I was injected with it until the point that I didn't need it anymore; I was permanently young. You think it's fun to stay in puberty for 70+ years? No. It sucks.

Anyways, I had felt a burning pain the first time I was injected with the serum, which slowed down my aging. Now a similar pain flooded through me, this one freezing, as if someone has injected ice water into my veins. I felt myself scream and arch my back, and I felt someone place their _very _cold hands on my shoulders, holding me down. I suddenly felt relief flood through me as the pain from my neck and back diminished, and I felt my body shudder as a signal resonated through my body.

"Is she alright?" someone asked. "She's shaking."

"She'll be fine; her body is accepting the formula and healing much more rapidly than our own could. Our main concern is your brother; help me."

I wanted to laugh out loud in relief. The serum was working. Whatever had just been injected into me… it was like the _anti_-infinity formula. I could feel my cells begin to live again. Well… they had been living before, but much more slowly. Now I was alive. I didn't only just exist anymore.

I opened my eyes and sat up, a smile on my face, "who injected me with medicine?" I asked, looking around the room. Bruce and Clint were bending over something on a table, and they looked up at the sound of my voice.

Bruce looked over at me, surprise written on his face. "I did," he said, coming over to me, rolling up his sleeves as he did so. "But it wasn't medicine, it was—"

"A form of the infinity formula," I interrupted calmly, shifting to sit Indian-style on the couch. "I know."

"Wha—How…?" he asked, wonder in his eyes.

I sighed and looked down at my folded hands, thinking over everything that had happened because of that freaking formula. I could have fallen in love. Well, I did once, but he's long gone now. Well… it's complicated. Remember Bucky? The man who attacked Eli and I? Yeah… Hehe. You should understand my dilemma. The man I was in love with seventy years ago who I watched die tried to kill me and the other guy I like seventy years later. How's that for relationship problems? "How do you think I've been alive this long?" I asked dully, twisting my purity ring.

"But how are you moving so suddenly?" he asked, sitting down next to me. "Your neck was broken."

I winced at the reminder. Thanks. "I know. But I'm okay now. I'm aging again," I said softly, smiling widely at my hands. "Whatever you did to me… it undid the effects of the infinity formula. Thank you." I meant the thanks. I was so ready to be done… the voice in my head had a point, back near the river. I was ready to give up, which is something that I hate doing. But now that I was aging again, I knew that at some point my time would come, and I would pass on. I'm not the person who would commit suicide or go on a suicide mission just for the heck of it, but if this really were going to work… death would be a welcome thing. I'd get to go to Heaven, for one. And I wouldn't have to run anymore. I couldn't wait for that.

"I, uh, you're welcome, but—" Bruce stammered, obviously confused at why I was excited about the possibility of death.

"Bruce," Clint said sharply, snapping the two of us out of our conversation, "Eli needs your help. If you would give it, I would be grateful."

I felt a pang of guilt; I hadn't even thought about Eli in the midst of the whole "Hey I can age now" thing. I stood up and walked haltingly over to him, scared of what I would see. He was lying on his back on the table, his face ashen. I reached over and took his hand, holding it tightly in mine. I could feel his pulse against my palm, and a wave of relief crashed over me. At least he was alive. I allowed my eyes to travel down from his face to his torso. Bruce had cut off the torn up remains of Eli's shirt, revealing a puncture wound on his right side, near where his right lung would be. My heart jumped into my throat as he took a ragged breath; the unevenness of it made my own chest ache.

My gaze travelled down even lower, to his legs.

I retched, nearly vomiting onto him, and turned away, bile in my throat. His right femur had literally _snapped _in half; the upper section had pierced through both the skin of his leg and his jeans, tearing a hold in them and soaking them in blood. I was shaking with suppressed nausea, and I returned my gaze to his face before I could be sick. I remembered hearing about a basketball player… Kevin Ware, I think it was, who had jumped to make a shot during the game and whose leg had snapped upon contact with the ground. This was exactly like that, except that with Ware, it had been his tibia, and fibula, not his femur. Eli's leg started out straight, then bent down at the break, then bent down further at the knee.

I stroked his hair back with my free hand, my eyes glued to his face as my breathing became as ragged as his. I heard voices around me, but they were distant and jumbled as if I were on drugs. At the last minute, my mind registered that Bruce was about to stick a needle into Eli's neck. A needle full of what I called life serum. Normally called the infinity formula. On me, because of Bruce's tinkering, it had caused me to come alive again. If used on Eli, it would bring the same curse on his that I had suffered under for nearly a century. My mind suddenly went from slow-motion-silent-movie-mode to Blu-ray-high-definition-surround-sound-mode.

"No!" I screamed, grabbing Bruce's arm and forcing it away from Eli right as the tip of the needle touched his neck. "No," I repeated forcefully, blood pounding in my ears. My head hurt from seeing everything in such sharp focus. Stupid adrenaline. Sure it keeps you alive in a fight, but right now it's just annoying. "You can't use that on him."

Both men stared at me incredulously, shocked at my words.

"Katie, the formula healed you," Bruce tried to point out, his tone suggesting that I was a child he was trying to talk some sense into. Must I point out that I am the oldest person in the room by at least forty years? "We have to—"

"No we don't," I said irritably, still holding his arm away from my friend. "Bruce, the serum worked on me and healed me because I had already been exposed to the original formula. Howard Stark's formula," I added. Bruce lowered his arm, confusion on his face.

"Howard Stark…" he trailed off, looking at me carefully as if I were a puzzle he couldn't solve. No one moved. "How old _are _you?" he finally asked. He and Clint both watched me, waiting for an answer.

I frowned, thinking back. Let's see, Steve was born in 1920… I was born in… '27? That sounds about right. And if the formula was first used on me in '42… that would make me… "Eighty-six," I said finally. My birthday was December 7, so I was going to be eighty-seven this year. Happy birthday to me. Woohoo. Yay. I should be dead by now, not stuck in my teenage body. For some reason, though I am much wiser than I was seventy years ago, I hadn't ever really mentally grown up. I mean, I still think like a teenager, if you couldn't already tell. Weird. I blame it on the infinity formula.

"Eighty-seven," Bruce repeated quietly, the hand holding the needle hanging at his side.

"You're wrong," Clint said, finally unfreezing.

Excuse me? Pretty sure my math was correct. "How so?" I asked softly, glaring at him challengingly.

"Not about your age," he said, "but about my brother. He has been exposed to the infinity formula before."

"He—huh?" I managed, dumbfounded. "What are you talking about?"

"Eli, my brother, _is_ my younger brother. But only by a couple years. He looks and acts so much younger than I that sometimes I forget how old he really is." He sighed tiredly.

"And you are…" I said coaxingly. What, could we actually be together? I mean, if he and I are close to the same age…

"I'm thirty-nine," he said. "Eli is thirty-seven. What I said before about kids not belonging in cages," He continued, "I meant it. Neither you nor my brother should have to be running. But that's the hand you've been dealt. My brother's been running since he was seventeen; you can tell a bit by his accent that he hasn't been in America for a while."

"What brought him back?" I asked curiously.

"I don't know," Clint said, running the bridge of his nose. "But what's important right now is that we give him the formula so he will get better."

Bruce raised his arm, and again I pushed it down.

"What now?" Bruce asked, somewhat amused. One look at Eli, however, and a grim look settled upon his face again.

"You can't just give him the serum and expect him to be okay instantaneously," I pointed out. "You have to set his leg—" my voice broke, and I cleared my throat hastily. "Or else it'll heal wrong and you'll have to re-break it."

Bruce nodded and set the serum aside. "Alright," he said, "Clint, come help me. Katie, stand aside."

I moved out of the way as the two men approached Eli. Bruce cut away the fabric around the injury, and I looked away, afraid that I would pass out. Clint held down Eli's shoulders, and Bruce went to set the bone. He frowned and looked down at Eli's left leg, which was uninjured, and motioned me to come over.

"Katie," he said hastily, "I need you to hold his leg down." I shook my head wildly, panic rising in me; clouding my judgment. "Yes, Katie you have to do this. If he wakes up, he will fight to get away, which will only hurt him more. I need you to hold him so he doesn't get more hurt than he already is. Understand?" I nodded, a bit shocked by his harsh tone. His voice almost didn't seem his… that sounded weird, but it sounded as if he were speaking with someone else's voice. I placed my hands on Eli's leg; one above his ankle, the other a bit above his knee.

"Ready?" Bruce said, his hands hovering above the protruding bone. "Go." He grabbed the bone and forced it down, moving the rest of his leg to meet it. Eli screamed, straining against me and his brother, sending blood everywhere as Bruce struggled to set the bone. He held it in place with one hand, the other grabbing a splint and strapping it to his leg. Eli still screamed in agony, and tears poured down my own cheeks as my nearly-healed injuries throbbed.

Bruce set his leg, grabbed the needle, and plunged it into Eli's neck, emptying the serum into his blood. Eli screamed again, and I remembered the icy flood of pain surging through my body with every beat of my heart, and I felt a shudder go through him, just as it had me. I watched in amazement as the wound on his side, which had been held together with butterfly bandages, closed, leaving only a scar in its place. I had been afraid that his lung had been punctured, but now as his breathing evened out, I felt that particular fear melt away. His leg straightened, and he relaxed a bit as the skin torn by his femur healed, closing the wound off. I took his left hand in my right and stroked his hair back from his forehead with my other hand, praying that he would wake up.

Ten minutes later, his blue eyes fluttered open, fixing immediately on my face. I smiled instantly, and he sat up (quicker than I would've thought possible for someone who had just been through such a traumatic experience) and wrapped his arms around me, burying his face in the crook of my neck.

After what seemed like forever, he spoke, his voice muffled by the fabric of my shirt. "I'm sorry for pulling you out of the window."

-o-

I laughed shakily and hugged him back, relieved that he felt okay enough to joke around. I could feel myself shaking, and my face was numb. You know… like when you've been crying for a while or something and your face falls asleep? Like that. We pulled away from each other and Eli swung his legs over the edge of the table.

"Wait!" I yelped. I glanced over at Bruce, who had yelled, "wait" at the same time I had. Eli looked confused.

"What?" he frowned, scrunching his eyebrows together. "Is there something I should know?"

"Um…" I trailed off, looking to Bruce to answer his question. I wasn't sure how Eli would react to the whole "Hey I can die now!" thing, so it was probably better someone else deliver the news. Not everyone was as excited about having an end as I was.

"To heal you," Bruce began, "we—" I cleared my throat pointedly, not willing to be thrown under the bus. "—_I_," he said, looking at me like 'you happy now?" "Injected you with a form of the infinity formula." Eli stiffened, his face hardening. I briefly wondered how long it had been since he had thought about it, and how it was used on him, whether he was willing or forced. "This particular version of the serum, however, does not slow down the aging of cells. It actually undoes the effects of the formula along with healing the one injected with it."

Eli's eyes clouded, and I could see unmistakable anger brewing in them. "And I was… what?" Eli said stiffly, his voice low and angry, "A lab rat?"

Bruce's face hardened as well, and his brown eyes narrowed. "No," he said tersely, "you were not. We saved your life. You may have noticed that your punctured lung has been healed, as well as you broken leg."

"I noticed," he said. I looked nervously at Bruce. Eli was visibly hotter than he had been at the beginning of the conversation. Not 'hotter' like, good-looking, but like… temperature wise. He was heating up. Not at an alarming rate, like the exploding people from a few months ago, but at a steady "I'm-really-pissed" rate.

"Bruce," I said softly. Every head turned to me. "Let me explain." He's doing a really crappy job, so I might as well try. I turned to Eli and took his hand, sitting on the table next to him. "When you pulled me out of the window," I began slowly, staring at my knees, which had become very interesting, "I think you forgot that I had a broken wing. Either that, or you were expecting a trampoline to be waiting for you at the base." I glanced up at him in time to see a fleeting smile flash across his face. He shook his head. "I didn't think so. When I tried to slow us down, the wind caught my wing and sent us into a spiral. When we landed, I hit the ground first and you flew over my head. I don't know exactly how you broke you femur, but—"

"Hitting the ground going over a hundred miles an hour tends to do that," Clint said idly, not looking up from his bow, which he was cleaning.

I cleared my throat, miffed. "Right. Well, I-" I cleared my throat again, unable to get the words out. "I broke my neck." Eli's eyes widened. "Bruce and your brother brought us back here, and I passed out at some point. Bruce got the infinity formula from Howard Stark, and old friend of mine."

"_Howard_ Stark?" Eli asked, his eyebrows scrunching together in confusion. "Isn't that—?"

I nodded, looking at our intertwined hands. "Anthony's father."

Eli snorted. "Anthony?"

I shrugged, a small smile tugging at my lips at the memory of my old friend. "I knew Howard for many years," I said softly. "He helped me get away from S.H.I.E.L.D. for a while, until he was recruited for the creation of weapons. After that, he couldn't help me anymore. But I still saw Tony when he was born."

"So how does Tony not know about you?" Clint asked, rubbing down his bow with an oiled cloth.

"Howard was a… complicated man," I said softly. "He opened up to very few even before my brother and I disappeared… and he and Tony, from what I have heard, had quite a complicated relationship."

Clint nodded. "You're right. Tony left after a while; he hadn't seen his father for years when he got the message that he'd passed."

I nodded slightly in agreement. I never understood the Starks' relationship. I would've never left my family, but Tony… he didn't really care.

"Katie? Could you explain the infinity formula to me?" Eli asked.

"The infinity formula was created soon after the Super Soldier Serum, by the earliest members of S.H.I.E.L.D. Please understand that at this point, S.H.I.E.L.D. itself was not even a thought. Those in charge used it on me—the idea of a female being a super soldier was unthinkable at the time." I scoffed. _They had no idea what women were capable of_. "They wanted to use the infinity formula on Steve, but by the time they got the all clear from the government, he had… disappeared."

"So they used it on you?" Clint asked. "And you were okay with it?"

"No," I answered softly. "I wasn't subjected to the raw formula until I was eighteen, but I was exposed to some form of it beforehand, which is why I still look the way I do now. I was a prisoner for nearly fifty years; I escaped in the winter of '91.."

"Fifty years," Eli repeated in a whisper. "S.H.I.E.L.D. did this to you?"

I shook my head. "No. Another group captured me and held me in a vegetative state for most of that time. When I wasn't being subjected to their procedures and experiments, I was either locked away or unknowingly used as a weapon." I looked over at Bruce and Clint, who both were watching me. "That's where the footage came from that Natasha showed you," I said softly. "From them controlling me."

"That's why you were so frightened when she showed it to us," Bruce said slowly, "Because you knew that you had committed the murders unwillingly, but you knew that we wouldn't under stand that you hadn't been in control. It was you, though."

"It was my body, yes," I said, "but not my mind. I remember much of what happened while stuck in that hell-hole, but I do not know all that happened when my body was enslaved. I can recall bits and pieces during the day, but most of the answers come at night, when I am too vulnerable to make out their meaning."

"You mean your nightmares," Bruce said quietly to me. I nodded, embarrassed.

"I can't tell the difference from my memories and my dreams," I said softly, looking back at my knees. "I don't know what's real anymore."

"Maybe I could help?" Eli asked quietly. I turned to look at him, surprised to see him sitting very close to me. His face was inches from mine, but I couldn't make myself turn away. We both leaned in, but at the last minute, I turned my head so that his lips grazed my cheek.

"I-I'm sorry," I murmured. "I just…"

Eli nodded. "There's nothing to be sorry for," he whispered. "I—"

A beeping noise filled my ears, and Eli and I looked around in alarm. "We should leave quickly," Bruce said, looking up from a glass tablet in his hands, from which the beeping came from. "The others will be here soon."

I slid off the table and helped Eli off as well. "I'll take you two to somewhere safe, alright?" Clint said, slinging his bow over his shoulder. We nodded, and he strode to the door, pulling it screeching open, grunting. He looked back at us. "You coming?" He asked.

I turned and hugged Bruce. "Thank you for everything," I whispered. Turning away, I nodded at Eli and and followed him out. _Please, let this be the last time we have to run away, _I wished, running after Eli and Clint as we slipped through the shadows to, hopefully, freedom.

-o-

**Thank you guys so much for reading thus far, it means a lot to me! I'd love if you would review and tell me what you think!**


	7. Chapter 7

Clint ended up stashing us in a hotel in upstate New York where the Avengers would be less likely to find us. He stayed in a room across the hall from Eli's and mine, but left a monitor in the room just in case. I lay in my bed, staring up at the ceiling, as the sound of Eli's shower filled the room.

I absently brushed my fingers through my wet hair, remembering how Steve and I used to care for each other so much; how he would have done anything to protect me. Now he's trying to hunt me down and give me to S.H.I.E.L.D.

I wished that I could fly, but I couldn't because of my wing. Considering how it had been broken at least three times in the past few days, I wanted to give it as much time to heal as possible before I used it again.

"What are you thinking about?" Eli asked, walking into the room. He had changed into sweatpants and a white t-shirt from his apartment next to the Stark Tower; Clint had gone back and grabbed a bunch of clothing for him and I. I currently wore a pair of flannel pajama pants and an oversized black t-shirt of Eli's while my other clothes were being washed and dried in the corner of the room.

I sat up and rested my chin on my knees. "I just… Where will we go?" I asked softly. "We've each almost died twice in the last twenty-four fours, and the Avengers—as they apparently have been named—are after us."

He sighed and sat down next to me, running a hand through his damp hair, mussing it up. "I don't know. But here's what I do know: my brother isn't going to give us up, and neither is Bruce. Clint can be harsh sometimes, but you've gotta remember what he's gone through. Your brother will remember you eventually, and when that happens, he'll be there to protect you. As for Thor, I'm pretty sure he doesn't want to hurt you."

"He shot a lightning bolt at me," I pointed out, recalling my comatose and nightmarish state afterwards.

He shrugged. "I'm sure it wasn't personal," he tried, spreading out his hands in an effort to appease me. I thought back to the nightmarish reliving of Steve's supposed death in my lightning-induced sleep and chose to ignore his comment. "He just thought you were on the wrong side."

I scoffed, remembering how I was locked up and strapped down to a stainless steel table the majority of the time I was visiting the Stark Tower. "Sure."

We both remained silent for a good, long while; there was no sound besides the sound of the dryer humming pleasantly and the bathroom fan whirring in the next room.

"I'm sorry, by the way," Eli said, finally shattering the silence. He stared down at his hands, keeping his bright eyes averted from mine.

I turned to him in confusion, drawing my knees up to my chin. "Sorry for what?"

He took a deep breath as if steeling himself for some great challenge. "For trying to kiss you," he said. I felt a wave of adrenaline sweep over me as my eyes darted over to stare at him. It was the fight or flight response, but I couldn't very well do either in this situation. I opened my mouth, closed it, repeated these actions several times, and eventually decided to allow him to finish his speech, my mouth held shut by my knees.

"Sometimes it's hard to forget how old I really am," he said sadly, the fingers of his left hand tracing over a pale scar wrapping around his right. "Most of the time I feel the same as I did when I was a child: scared and alone, a little kid on the run with nowhere to go."

I nodded in understanding, thinking back to my time evading Hydra after my brother's disappearance, to the time even before he went missing where I was approached and asked directly whether I would volunteer to be the test subject for the Infinity Formula. "I know how you feel," I replied softly. "I'm nearly ninety years old; I was a mindless weapon for half of my life who spent my free time either killing innocent people or being suspended in a vegetative state. Of the forty or so years I wasn't being used, half of it was spent growing up, and the other half has been spent running away. I still feel like the scared little girl who lost her parents. The same girl who watched the man she loved fall from a cliff. The same girl who listened to her brother die." I turned to Eli. "It haunted me for years. I listened to him _die_," I said, trying to make him understand the urgency I felt. "I heard the radio cut off, and my world shattered. I was captured and experimented on. My life had been a living hell. The only two things I never regretted was loving Steve, and falling in love with B—" I stopped myself from saying his name. "The man… that I loved."

"You've regretted everything else?" Eli asked. "Even your wings?"

My fingers grazed the feathers of my wings, which were slightly damp from my shower. "I would give them up in a heartbeat if it meant that I could go back; that my love would never have died, and my brother would never have forgotten me. I would give _anything_—" My voice broke. "I _would have_ given anything. But Steve… Steve is gone now. He doesn't remember me; he never will."

Eli shook his head and rested his hand on my knee. "Hey, don't say that—"

I pulled away, turning my head so he couldn't see the angry tears forming in my eyes. "It's true!" I exclaimed, pulling a pillow to my chest. "He went with Natasha to try and kill me."

"Us," Eli said softly. "Not just you. And they tried to capture us, not kill us."

I laughed humorlessly. "Please. Ms. Romanoff would shoot me point blank in a heartbeat should worse come to worse, you know that. Stark would as well. Steve… he'd follow their lead, probably. There's nothing I can do to change that; I just have to live with it."

"You're wrong, Katie."

I jumped, nearly falling off the bed. Clint stood in the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes were fixed eerily on mine, but he looked sad and weary all the same.

"What do you mean, 'I'm wrong'?" I asked, scooting back on the bed and pulling a blanket up around myself. "Steve clearly—"

"You may not know him as well as you think, if you believe he would shoot you."

I fell back in exasperation, mentally groaning in aggravation. "I don't think he would shoot me if he remembered me," I said, staring up at the popcorn ceiling. "But he doesn't remember me." I shut my eyes, blocking out the pain of rejection as best I could. Clint then said the last thing I expected to hear.

"He remembers something," Clint said, coming over and sitting on the edge of the bed next to his brother.

My eyes shot open and I sat up so quickly that I nearly butted heads with Eli, who had been leaning over me to grab a glass of water. I brushed him off and focused solely on Clint, who apparently wore his battle gear to bed. His blue eyes scanned my face for a reaction. "What did you just say?"

"I said that he remembers something," he said again. "Do you remember when you went and spoke to him privately a few days ago?"

I thought back to our conversation, reliving it in extreme detail.

-o-

_Natasha opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, another voice reached my ears. The voice cut into my heart, and I kept my eyes trained on the ground, forcing myself not to acknowledge his presence. _

_ "Bruce?" Steve strode into the room, Thor right behind him. I looked up, loosing the battle, unable to help myself. Steve's stormy blue eyes met mine and I immediately looked away, staring at the floor as my eyes began to sting_.

Don't cry, don't cry—he doesn't matter anymore, he's as gone as the rest of them, he_—_

_ "Katie?" he asked. I froze, my heart a drumroll in my chest. _He said he didn't remember, he said— 

_ "Can we talk?"_

Steve's gone, he's gone, he's not here, this isn't him, he's not— 

_ "Katie," he pleaded gently. I looked up at him as a sudden wave of anger crashed into me. I staring into his eyes, expecting to give him a look of betrayal and pain he would never forget, but I was stopped cold by what I saw. He had bags under his eyes, stubble covering his cheeks. His voice sounded tired, and he looked like he would fall over at any moment. _

_ His eyes were what startled me the most: there was a struggle deep in his mind; I could see it. A struggle between what he remembered and what he knew to be true. He knew who I was, but his memory—or lack of, rather—opposed him._

_ "Steve," I whispered, unable to help myself. Simply saying his name made me feel like a little girl again; I wanted nothing more than to run into his arms; to know that nothing could happen to me as long as I was with him._

_ "Katie, I need to talk to you," he said, sounding desperate and confused._

_ I nodded slowly, my eyes never leaving his. "Alright."_

_ Steve led me into an adjourning room, where I sat on the couch, staring down at the feather-soft throw I was currently messing with. I pulled a stray feather from it and winced, pushing the feather back into the blanket. Sometimes I forget that I have wings, so seeing feathers used in pillows makes me sick. _

_ "I want to say that I'm sorry," Steve said softly. I said nothing but sat still, staring down at the purity ring adorning my left ring finger. Steve gave it to me a lifetime ago when he found out I was in love. Just to make sure I didn't forget. "I didn't know that they were going to hurt you, I just…" his voice faltered, and the rift in my heart grew wider. "I didn't…" I couldn't move. I didn't want him to see how much I was hurting, so I said nothing and allowed my heart to break. "Please, Katie," he said, his voice a whisper. "Please talk to me." I stared down at my hands, my eyes stinging. I blinked rapidly to keep the tears of grief back, but I couldn't. "I want to help you."_

_ I took a deep breath in the hopes of calming myself down, but it was shaky, and when I let it out, a sob followed. I pulled the blanket to my face, struggling to contain myself, but I couldn't. I felt his hand touch my shoulder, as I flinched away from his hand, partially out of habit and partially out of fear. _

_ "You're going to be alright," he said softly, pulling his hand away. I hadn't seen this side of Steve since… well, since Bucky died. "I—" He stopped abruptly, his fingers lightly grazing my left hand. "Where did you get that ring?"_

_ I lifted up my head as he pulled my left hand towards him, shaking as he intently studied the ring. His fingers trailed over mine, and a confused look crossed his face. "My brother gave it to me," I whispered. "A long, long time ago."_

-o-

I shook my head to clear it_. _"Vaguely, why?" I answered.

"Because your brother came to me after and asked me to find that ring. I asked why, and he said that it reminded him of someone he used to know," Clint answered.

"Here's what I want to know," I said, "How is it that Steve is frozen for nearly a century, wakes up, and remembers everything perfectly clearly except for me: his sister!?"

Clint shrugged helplessly, looking to his brother for help. "I don't know."

Clint's phone suddenly began ringing, and we all looked up in surprise. It was nearly two in the morning; no one in their right mind would be awake at this hour. Well, there are a few exceptions including us and possibly—

"Natasha."


	8. Chapter 8

Eli and I froze as Clint stood, pressing a finger to his lips and moving over to the window. "Natasha."

I pointed to him furiously and turned to Eli, fuming. I began mouthing threats and questions at the poor guy, who held up his hands in surrender. _What the hell does he think he's doing?! They'll track us!_

_ Well if he doesn't answer, they'll know something's up! _He tried to reason with me, but I wouldn't hear it.

_ I don't care! I don't really fancy being strapped to a freaking examination table again!_

Clint continued talking but made the 'quit it' hand sign, glaring at us both. "I tracked the girl to upstate New York, but she got away. She could be halfway to Canada by now; I'm resting for the night here and I'll be out looking for her again in the morning." A look of panic crossed his face, and I stood up, moving towards him. Before I could reach him, he grabbed my shoulder and pushed me back to the bed, pointing to Eli and then to me. His brother pulled me back, one hand covering my mouth and I tried to squirm away. "Alright. Got it. I'll see you in the morning." Clint hung up the phone and opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off before he could say a word.

"We have to get out of here," I said, yanking Eli's hand off my mouth and throwing his arms off me. "_Now_," I growled, daring either man to challenge me.

"Where will you go?" Clint asked, crossing his arms.

"I don't know—Canada? Anywhere but here!" I yelled, throwing out my arms in anger.

"They are on their way now; they have to stop and pick up Steve and Bruce, but they will be here by morning. Do you honestly think you could outpace them?" He yelled, causing my anger to rise.

I extended my wings in a flash, nearly knocking Eli off the bed when my left wing clipped his shoulder. "I can outfly them," I said, sounding confident and angry. There remained a shadow of doubt in my mind—my wing had only healed recently—but what other choice did I have?

"Really?" He asked, stepping closer so that there was barely any space between us. "Of the six of us, four are intent on capturing you, two are on your side. Of the four opposing you, two can fly. All are lethal. Do you honestly think you could escape them?"

"I have you," I said softly, wrapping my arms around myself as I channeled my anger away. "And Bruce and Eli."

"We won't always be there," Eli said, moving to stand in front of his brother. I stiffened, my brow drawing together. "What happens when we get into a battle; us against them. You know it'll happen eventually. They will be fighting to kill. Do you think you'll be able to kill your brother? Do you think you'll be able to kill anyone, for that matter?" Eli exclaimed, stepping up to me so that our bodies nearly touched.

Images of fallen men blazed through my mind. I shuddered as I recalled plunging a stake into a man's abdomen; pressing my foot to his chest to remove it; turning my head as his warm blood sprayed into my face and mouth.

"You know nothing about me," I snarled. My shoulders were set as if I were about to tackle him; my eyes were narrowed in anger. "I have killed more than you will ever know. Even if I did not do it consciously, I still have been stained by it. I still bear the pain of having taken lives. I am not numb to it, Elijah," I said, using his full name for emphasis, "But yes, I could kill them."

We stood face to face, neither saying a word. My blood pounded in my ears and the heat of rage radiated from my body. Both of us were breathing heavily and no one moved. Clint stood behind us, watching and waiting.

"No you couldn't," Eli said. I bit my lip and clenched my hands tightly before letting out a scream of anger and slamming my fist into the wall, making a good-sized crater. Breathing heavily, I removed my hand, shaking off the plaster dust and rubbing my bloody knuckles.

I turned back to the brothers to see Clint standing with his eyes closed, rubbing the bridge of his nose and breathing heavily.

"Please tell me that you are not so _stupid _as to plant that kind of evidence for them to find," he said, his voice rising at the end so that he ended up yelling. I felt myself flush in embarrassment; I honestly hadn't thought that far ahead.

"I wasn't thinking—" I started defensively.

"Oh, that I know!" He yelled, storming around the room.

"Why do you even care?" I screamed. "You met me a week ago, just leave! What are you waiting for?"

He turned and caught me by the throat, slamming me against the wall. His forearm was pressed partially against my collarbone and partially against my neck, making it nearly impossible for me to move or breathe. "You are naïve and selfish if you think I am here for you," he hissed as I glared at him in defiance, my fingernails digging into his forearm. "I lost my brother once; I will not lose him again. However," He relaxed his grip and I fell to my knees, gasping for air. "I do stand by what I said before: children should not live in cages."

"Clint—?" Eli said, confused and worried. "What…?"

Hawkeye turned to his brother, eyes burning. "Stay with her. Do not leave this room. When morning comes, I'll meet the team outside and travel with them; hopefully they won't even come inside. Once we're gone, you take Katie and head in the opposite direction, but wait half an hour before going anywhere. Do you understand me?" He barked, staring at his brother. Eli nodded, and Clint's face softened. He bent down and picked me up, setting me on the bed. "In case we don't run into each other again, Katie, I'm sorry for what happened. It was the only way to knock any sense into you."

I didn't reply but sat rubbing my throat, keeping my eyes averted from his. He sighed and stood. "I have to go back to my room and get everything together. Stay here; under no circumstances are you to come out until after we are gone, understood?"

"Yeah, I got it," Eli said. The two brothers did a kind of bro-hug thing before Clint left, and as soon as I heard the door slam, I fell back onto the bed, my hands at my throat. Eli ran over to the bed and tried to look at the damage, but I elbowed him away.

"I'm fine," I rasped, wincing at the pain in my esophagus. "It's just a bit sore."

Eli continued prying my hands out of the way, his brow drawn in concentration. "Then let me see," he said, tugging uselessly at my wrists. Relenting, I moved out of the way, and he drew in a sharp breath.

"Is it bad?"

He didn't answer but moved over to the freezer and withdrew a bag of ice. Grabbing a towel, a water bottle, and a couple ibuprofens, he made his way back over to me before wrapping the ice in the rag and pressing it to the bruise. "Here," he said softly, "this will help."

I nodded in thanks and held the ice up to the throbbing bruise, wincing at the cold as I swallowed the two red pills.

"What's it like?" he asked, lying down next to me on the bed.

"What's what like?" I whispered, rolling over to face him.

He moved onto his stomach and crossed his arms under his chest, holding himself up as he figured out what words to say. "Coming back after so long and finding someone you thought was dead, someone who loved you, but doesn't remember you."

I closed my eyes. "It's terrible," I said softly. "I spent seventy years a prisoner believing my only family was dead, and I finally got away and found him… alive, and happy, and…" I trailed off and turned to look Eli in the eye. "All those years I was a weapon, an experiment, I would fantasize about Steve coming and rescuing me. I would think back to when we were younger, before he was a super soldier. Skinny Steve," I smiled. "There's a huge difference between having a brother who would give his life for you and is really too small to protect himself, and having a brother who would give his life for you but knows that he's strong enough that he doesn't have to." Eli said nothing but simply gazed at me, understanding in his eyes. He didn't interrupt, and I was grateful; I needed this off my chest. "I am nearly ninety years old," I said sadly. "And I haven't aged a day since last I saw my brother back in the forties. I feel old, though. I read a book once, by an author that was older than I by the name of Tolkien. One of the characters was one hundred and eleven years old, and he said, 'I feel… thin. Sort of stretched, like butter spread over too much bread.' I feel like that, Elijah. I went seventy years believing that my brother was dead, and I ran into him at the Stark Tower a week ago. He's mentally younger than I am by half a century. Do you have any idea how that feels?" I pleaded with Eli, almost crying. I was dumping all my thoughts on him, everything I had hoped or thought in the past century. "And he doesn't remember. If he remembered me, it would be alright, maybe, but he doesn't remember me. All those years spend fantasizing about him coming to rescue me, things going back to how they were before; gone. Obliterated. It can never happen. He's a soldier, and I'm a weapon," I said, burrowing under the covers. "And that's it."

Eli lifted up the covers and peered down at me, grief etched on his face. "Katie—you're not just a weapon. You're not a weapon at all! You were used, but that doesn't make up who you are. You're so much more than what you can see. You're a warrior, a sister, a freedom fighter, someone who never gives up no matter what happens."

I closed my eyes. _ You're wrong, _I thought. _I'm a weapon, an orphan, a murderer, and a coward. _I sniffed and rolled over so my back faced him, staring at the wall until I fell asleep.


	9. Chapter 9

**It needs to be said that I am changing Katie's age so that instead of Steve being seven years older, he is roughly 5-6 years older. This at least lessens the age gap between Bucky and Katie enough that it isn't as strange that they were in a relationship. This also makes much more sense because Katie would have been fifteen-sixteen when Steve first was approached by those who would become S.H.I.E.L.D. and would make her seventeen when Steve disappeared and when she was first introduced to the infinity formula. Reminder that her DoB is now Dec 7, 1926. (I just can't go back and change it; my computer has an annoying habit of deleting my documents days after saving them.) Enjoy!**

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_"Katie. You okay?"_

_ I sniffed and looked up into Steve's blue eyes. Although he was six years older, I was less than a head shorter than he was. He was nineteen; I was thirteen._

_ I shook my head, wiping my eyes with my sleeve. "No," I whispered, looked over at my mother's fresh grave. "I'm not okay."_

_ He pulled me into a hug and I hugged him back tighter, crying into his chest. Father died a little over eleven years ago; Mom had raised Steve and I by herself. Now she was gone, and we were alone._

_ "Hey," he said softly, pulling back and crouching a little so we could see eye to eye, "I'm not going anywhere. I will always be there to protect you, got it?" I nodded, shaking with sobs, and he pulled me into a hug again, whispering into my hair, "You're okay," "You're safe," and "I love you," while rubbing my back._

_ "I love you, Steve," I hiccupped, squeezing him tighter. _

_ He kissed my forehead. "I love you too, kiddo."_

_o_

"Katie. Katie, wake up."

Someone was shaking me, and I opened my eyes to see Eli sitting beside me, his hands on my shoulder and hip. He was watching the window, not me, so I knew he wasn't trying to find an excuse to touch me like other boys would have. Then again, he wasn't exactly a boy; he was thirty-seven years old after all.

"What's going on?" I mumbled, rubbing my face and sitting up. The first thing I noticed was that the bed I slept in was messy on both sides. I turned to him accusingly, suddenly wide-awake. "Did you sleep here last night?"

He flushed but pressed his hand over my mouth, shaking his head at me. The events of last night flooded my mind, momentarily making me forget about my memorial dream. He slowly removed his hand, bringing it to the bow he gripped tightly in his hands.

"Have they come?" I whispered, wide-eyed.

He nodded, keeping his eyes glued to the window. The blinds were drawn, but there was a chink we could see out of that looked out over the parking lot.

"Are they gone?"

He shook his head, and I bit my lip, suddenly terrified.

"Get dressed," he breathed. I nodded and crept to the bathroom, cracking the door as I threw on a pair of jeans, a white running shirt, brown hiking boots and a brown leather jacket. There were slits in both the shirt and the jacket for my wings. I moved back to the bed and crawled onto it, lying on my stomach beside Eli. I remembered how he could hear Natasha and Steve from several floors away at the last hotel, and so I stayed silent, listening for any voices.

"Are you sure she went this way?" Stark was saying. I closed my eyes to picture them all better. I could see them in my mind's eye, standing in the nearly deserted parking lot. All six of the Avengers were present, including my brother.

"I'm positive," Clint replied.

"Why didn't you follow them?" Natasha asked, skeptical.

"Because it was late, it was dark, and I was tired," Clint snapped. "Any more questions?"

_Keep it together, Clint, _I thought.

"Was there anyone with her?" Natasha asked.

"What?"

"Was there anyone with her?" she repeated.

"Natasha, why would anyone be travelling with this girl?" Stark asked, stepping in. "She's a fugitive and a murderer. Why would someone want to affiliate themselves with someone like that?"

I clenched my teeth and fists angrily; Eli gripped my arm tightly, warning me not to move or make a sound. _ Let me remind you, _I thought angrily, _that you are standing in front of two trained assassins and that you yourself are one that had your own weapons industry and are responsible for hundreds of unprecedented deaths. Do not talk about my slate being marked when yours and your companions' slates are dripping with blood._

"Maybe this other person is the same as she is," Natasha suggested, "A coward, or a thief. They could be protecting one another."

"I don't think her companion's like that," Clint said casually, not recognizing his mistake until it was too late.

My eyes widened as Eli shut his, both of us frozen in shock and terror. I cursed both Clint and the Avengers, wanting nothing more than to run away and leave them to search in vain for someone who had completely dropped of the grid. Sadly, she couldn't do this, and she knew that even if she could, they'd never stop looking.

Natasha had picked up on his slipup. "So there is someone with her?" Natasha asked, a smile in her voice.

I looked at Eli, panicked. _We need to get out of here, _I mouthed, shaking.

Elijah shook his head and grabbed my arm in a bruising grip. _Not yet._

"Last we saw, Katie had a broken wing," Natasha said matter-of-factly. "She couldn't have gotten far on foot unless she stole a vehicle. There aren't any trains or busses this far upstate unless she decided to go South, but she's smarter than that; she knows we'd suspect it. She'd either have to have gotten a taxi, which we know she didn't do; stolen a car, which we should keep an ear out for; or is heading North on foot."

No one said a word, and I allowed myself to relax; they didn't suspect us of being here. _Yet._

"Then again…" Natasha said. Eli and I froze again. "Barton, what time did you say you got in?" she asked.

"I didn't," he answered.

"What time did you get in?" she asked, not sounding very friendly anymore.

I turned to Eli. "He's stalling," I whispered. He shushed me, cocking his head to improve his hearing. I tugged my arm in an attempt to make him let go. "We need to leave."

"Shut up!" He whisper-yelled.

"Wait," Stark said. Both of us fell silent, me with Eli's hand once again over my mouth. "Be quiet, all of you, I heard something."

Eli released me, nocked an arrow to the string, and waited, tense as a bowstring, for anything to move. I kept a firm grip on a switchblade Clint had left behind, eying the door. I heart a _tap-tap-tapping _noise from the window and turned to see a metal robot-like-thing sitting on the inside of the glass, watching us with glowing glass eyes. I barely got a glimpse of its gold and crimson paintjob before Eli's arrow impaled it, shattering the window behind it.

Eli pulled me towards the door, but I pulled away, running for the window and keeping a firm grip on his arm. Before he could protest, I had jumped out of the window, Eli firmly in my grasp. I soared down, unfurled my wings, and flew straight up, barely catching a glimpse of the Avengers' stunned faces before rising to a dizzying height. I threw Eli into the air and swung around to catch him so that he was on my back, and he kept his arms around my shoulders, frantically muttering something under his breath.

We flew over a great forest; a glittering blue lake was before me, and a mountain range sat a ways ahead, illuminated by the rising sun. The light reflected off the lake, making it difficult to see, so I had to squint in order to tell where I was going.

"Odd that someone who didn't have any qualms about pulling me out of a window is scared of heights," I laughed, beating my wings harder to keep us airborne. Eli's weight strained my muscles, but I had to deal with it; I couldn't just drop him.

"Is it that obvious?" He yelled over the wind, gripping me tighter.

"Kind of!" I yelled, pulling suddenly into a nosedive to avoid a blast from Stark, who was tailing me. I turned into a corkscrew dive, weaving around as more explosions detonated on my tail.

I pulled out of the dive after two thousand feet, and I could feel Eli shaking. "Don't you ever do that again!" he yelled, sounding hysteric.

I glanced behind me and pulled around just in time to avoid Thor, who had somehow managed to sneak up on me. With several beats of my wings I once again was a mile in the air, and Thor predictably had followed me. As he drew level with me, I stopped flying and relaxed, letting myself fall past him. Eli was screaming in a very manly way and clinging to me for dear life. The earth spiraled sickeningly around me while the wind howled though my hair and feathers and made my eyes water. I laughed: this was my favorite thing to do in the world. Few would appreciate it; they'd become airsick too quickly. I remembered how I used to be afraid of heights; now I feared to be stranded on the ground.

"Elijah; I'm going to drop you!" I called to Eli as we approached the ground on the far side of the lake.

"What?!" He shrieked, gripping me even tighter. "No!"

"Trust me!" I yelled. "I'm going to get close to the ground, drop you, and run. You hide; I'll catch up with you later!"

I didn't give him the chance to answer.

One hundred feet up, I spread my wings, slowing at an alarmingly fast rate. Ten feet from the ground, I dropped Eli, who landed, rolled, and came up in a crouch. He immediately disappeared into the woods as I began flying faster and faster in the opposite direction, moving much more quickly without the extra weight. I now was flying in the direction of the Avengers, hoping to distract and disorient them before meeting up with Eli again. However, my plans rarely work out the way I want them to.

An explosion from in front of me nearly knocked me out of the sky, and I remained where I was, hovering for a moment, stunned. Tony Stark flew into view and remained in front of me, watching me silently. The two of us were still, suspended a mile in the air over the lake.

"Why are you doing this?" I asked, catching sight of Thor flying around behind me. At this point, I knew there was no escape; I figured might as well learn something before fighting for my life again. "I was friends with your father; I never have done anything to you."

He laughed dryly and removed his mask, tucking it into some hidden panel. His face was calm, but his eyes were dark and angry. My wings flapped nervously, moving me back several feet. "I know that you were friends with my old man, once upon a time…" he said conversationally, cracking his knuckles. His eyes turned to steel. "I also know that you're the one who did him in."

My mouth fell open in shock and my wings stopped beating for a moment, making me drop several stories before they started working again. Stark dropped down to my level, making sure I didn't get away. Not that I could have flown anywhere; I couldn't breathe. "No," I managed, "I didn't. I would _never_—"

"Do you have an alibi for the night of December 17, 1991?" he asked, glaring at me. _What, am I on trial now? _It occurred to me that he was stalling, but I knew that he also was angry, deep down, at the murderer of his parents. I did not kill them, but I had an idea of who did. Bucky.

Where was I on December 17… '91. _That was the week after I escaped_. "It was the week after I escaped Hydra," I said, momentarily forgetting about the looming blond threat flying behind me. I rubbed my upper arms, trying to rid them of the sudden chill that had descended upon me. "I was running; flying, really, away from the ones who experimented on me."

Stark looked genuinely confused, though his eyes continually flickered back to Thor as if waiting for a signal. "You were experimented on?"

"Did you think I was born with these?" I asked sarcastically, gesturing to my wings. "I was a prisoner, a weapon, for forty-five years."

"When were you captured?" Stark asked, scratching his scruffy beard absently.

"1946," I answered. "Two years after Steve disappeared." When Tony didn't respond, I continued. "You know who I am, Anthony," I said. "And you know who my family is. You know I didn't kill your father."

"America's Angel," he replied dryly. "My dad used to talk about you and your brother all the time before you both died; I just didn't know it was _you _that was Katie Rogers. I didn't put that together till recently."

He had lost me a while back. "Before… before I _died_?" I repeated, horrified.

"They found your body, sweetheart," he said, crossing his arms. "Didn't you know? They couldn't recognize your face, but the DNA was the same. It was a match. So unless you had a twin sister no one knows about, you're legally dead."

I shook my head, baffled. "No… I don't have a sister. Just a brother. So… even if he did remember me, he'd think I was… dead?"

Tony nodded. "For some reason, he doesn't remember you, which is strange, since you look exactly the same as you did in those pictures. I still want to hear your answer, though."

"Anthony," I said, tired. I needed to make this right; clear my name. "I didn't kill them. You have my word, I didn't kill them."

He looked up at me and then over my shoulder. "I figured," he said, nodding at Thor. My heart dropped and instinctively my wings folded in on themselves, making me fall. Thor, however, had learned his lesson. He was waiting, and he grabbed ahold of my arms as I dropped by him. I yelled and kicked but because of his armor, I couldn't get free.

"Stop struggling," Thor said. "It will only be worse for you."

I ignored him.

Despite my struggles, he and Stark began flying to the ground where the others were. I writhed and squirmed, trying to get out of the pair's grip. "Please don't do this," I begged, looking anywhere but Steve. "Please, let me go."

Both men stopped, and we sat still again. I got the sense that Stark was messing with me similarly to how Bucky had toyed with me when he caught up to me a few days before. Thor held my wrists behind my back, and they were once again cuffed. My wings were pinned between my arms and my jacket; I was dependent on Thor to keep me in the air. "Give me one good reason why," Stark said, looking down at the others.

I looked down at my brother, who was shielding his eyes with his hand, and then back at Stark. Tears stung my own eyes. " Because I can't face him." Stark started to turn away, so I began yelling. "I can't face him, knowing that he doesn't remember me. He thinks I'm a coward; a murderer! My own brother—" My voice broke and I began to sob. "He thinks… Please," I cried. "Don't make me face him again. He promised—I can't face him," I slumped against Thor, who was in some state of shock at my meltdown. Honestly, I was too.

"Your brother?" Thor repeated. He apparently hadn't been listening to mine and Stark's conversation, which I was grateful for. He looked down at Steve, then back at me. A small voice came from Stark's armor: "She's telling the truth, Sir. Her name is Katherine Rogers, born December 7 of 1926. Both her parents died before she turned thirteen, and her brother Steven Rogers took care of her until his assumed death in '44. It also says here that she was engaged to a James Buchanan Barnes, who died in a train accident."

"He d-didn't die in a train accident," I hiccupped. "He f-fell out of a train when w-we were stopping H-Hydra. H-he was a h-hero."

"What's happening up there, Tony?" Natasha's voice came through his helmet, and he rolled his eyes.

"Give me a second," he said, turning it off. He still didn't look too convinced with my explantion, but he hadn't given me over to Natasha yet, which was good. "What about all we saw on the tapes?" he asked. "You destroying stuff, killing people, etc."

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Two years after my brother's death," I began, "I was captured by Hydra. The founders of S.H.I.E.L.D. assumed they were gone because Steve had defeated the Red Skull, the founder of Hydra, before he disappeared. Arnim Zola, the bastard responsible for Bucky's death, took—"

"Who is this 'Bucky'?" Thor rumbled frowning.

"James Barnes," I said softly, shifting my weight. "My fiancé." I turned to Tony. "Could I have the freedom to fly if I am to give you my life story? I can remained handcuffed to Thor, but I need to fly." Stark sighed but nodded, and Thor undid the cuffs, redoing them so that my right wrist was attached to his left.

"No funny business," Anthony warned.

I agreed, and Stark nodded for me to continue. "After two years of running, I was tracked down and captured. Zola took me to the cavern where Hydra had worked before, which was by now assumed to be abandoned. He experimented on me, giving me something called the 'Infinity Formula'. He put these wings on me and somehow connected them to my mind so I could fly. In the fifties, he began strapping me to a chair and giving me electric shocks in the hopes that I would lose my memory. For a while, it worked. He and the other members of Hydra would give me specific targets, and I would take them out." I closed my eyes. "Every now and then, I would wake up from the trance. I would fight. I would be punished if either I fought or I failed to complete a mission." I reached over and rolled up my right sleeve, revealing a deep, angry red burn scar that curled from my collarbone down to my thumb and covered the whole expanse of my arm. Stark's breath whistled through his teeth as he breathed in sharply, his face horrified at the burn. "I couldn't use my arm afterwards, and so they put me on ice until the mid sixties. I would be electrocuted over and over, and I would lose my memory and be the perfect weapon for as long as I was awake. When I slept, the nightmares would come. I would see the murders I had committed, and I would see all the good I had done as well, before being caught. As soon as I woke up, I was mindless again. As soon as I fell asleep, my mind would be plagued with nightmares." I sighed, exhausted from running. "In 1991, I escaped. I broke out of the trance and got away, and I've been running every day since. It's been twenty-three years, and I'm still running. Nick Fury tried to take me down once," I recalled, thinking back to our battle. "He spotted me and recognized me from an assassination attempt that had gone horribly wrong, which is how I got my scar. Fury tried to attack me from behind, but I heard him coming. He lost his left eye," I reminisced sadly. "It was him or me."

"And you chose to save yourself," Stark finished, sounding very high-and-mighty. I didn't have the heart to respond sarcastically, so I looked over at him sadly, the burden of my years weighing me down.

"No. I chose to save him. If I had chosen to save myself, he would be dead," I clarified, "And no one would know I was still alive. Because I spared him, he has had S.H.I.E.L.D. hunting me every day since. He also shot me in the shoulder," I pulled down the shoulder of my top and jacket, revealing the puckered scar of a bullet wound that never truly healed.

Tony shook his head. "You've lost me here… you're trying to convince us to let you go, so you spill all your secrets and admit to being a murderer?"

I groaned. "I'm not a murderer! My body committed the murders, not my mind. You have killed too, Stark," I reminded him solemnly. "Let us not point fingers just yet."

He threw his head back in exasperation. "What do you think, big man?" he asked Thor.

He and I looked at each other closely, and it was a minute before he answered. I could feel the frustration radiating off Natasha, who wanted to turn me in and get on with her life. "I too courted war when I was young," he said softly. "I was exiled, and my own brother tried to kill me. I understand much of what you've been through, my lady. I say we let her go."

"Natasha won't be happy about this," Stark said, glancing down at her.

"What if I were to escape?" I asked, biting my lip. "You could keep on 'chasing' me till I got off the grid, then you could go on with your lives."

"How would you escape?" Thor asked.

I looked at him apologetically. "Sorry about this." I took the switchblade and brought it down with so much force that the metal chain on the cuffs snapped. I kicked Thor in the chest, knocking the breath out of him and stunning him momentarily. In the same move I managed to nail Tony in the side of the head with the heel of my boot and knock him off balance; luckily for him, his helmet was still on. Since I was trying to make it look as believable as possible, I spread my wings to begin surging upwards; I didn't give a thought to the others below me. At least, not until a bullet hit my shoulder and passed straight through, embedding itself in my wing. I screamed and began falling but forced myself to stay in the air. I could hear shouts from below me but ignored them as my ears began ringing. I made it to about the center of the lake before my body began to shut down. My eyelids began fluttering and I dropped several stories before catching myself. _Where am I?_

My eyes rolled back in my head and I dropped like a stone. The impact of hitting the water was like hitting cement, and it knocked the breath out of my lungs as I skipped like a rock several times before sinking. _So this is it, _I thought groggily. _This is how I'm going to die._

At the word 'die,' I snapped awake and began panicking. I would _not _die here. I broke through to the surface and gasped for air, my lungs screaming. I thrashed around, trying to become airborne again, but my wings were waterlogged and dragged me down.

"Take my hand!" A familiar voice bellowed. I looked up to see Thor flying above me. I hesitated a second but swung my right arm, catching his hand. He effortlessly pulled me out of the water and held me bridal-style as he flew me to the other side of the lake.

"W-why are you d-doing this?" I asked, teeth chattering. We were a ways into Canada by now; it was quite cold despite being July.

He thought for a moment before answering. "Because I see myself in you, Winged Girl," he answered. "You are an exiled warrior finding her path. I would give you a chance to do what is right." We reached the far shore, where Thor landed and set me down.

"Thank you," I said, cradling my injured arm. "What will the others say when they find out that you've helped me?"

He looked back at the far shore. "There was a man there, with a metal arm," he answered slowly. "He took a shot at you; the others have given chase. I doubt they will notice that I am gone." He placed his hand on my good shoulder. "Go. Get away from here. Whatever help you had, find it."

"Katie!" Eli ran out of the woods behind me and slung my arm around his shoulders to help me stand.

"Stay with her," Thor said, turning away.

"Wait!" I called, stepping forward. He turned his head, his bright blue eyes piercing my own. "Will you watch over my brother?" I asked. "Will you make sue he's safe?"

The Asgardian placed his hand on his chest and bowed. "You have my word." And without another word, he rose into the air and flew away, a storm following in his wake.


	10. Chapter 10

Eli grabbed my right arm and slung it around his shoulders, keeping a firm grip on my hand. His other arm went around my waist and supported my as we ran through the woods. Several minutes passed, and I was breathing heavily, shaking. Besides being recently shot, I was soaked to skin and freezing; I was minutes from passing out. My mind was fuzzy; I still was mulling over my conversation with Thor. All of a sudden, Thor's comment about the "man with the metal arm" made sense, and I stopped, horrified.

"We have to go back," I said, pulling at Eli, trying to make him let me go.

He looked at me, stunned and concerned. "What?"

"It's James. Elijah, it's _Bucky. _We can't just leave him!"

We argued back and forth until Eli began dragging me. My words became slurred, but I what I said made total sense in my head. When I said it out loud, however, I couldn't help but wonder how someone could be so stupid as to wander purposefully into danger. I was torn; it was as if I had two personalities; one side that was logical, and one that was on the verge of passing out in pain. "We… we can't leave him," I said softly, craning my neck to look up at the clouds above me. _Hm… Fluffy._

"We can, and we will! He's tried to kill you at least twice now; we're leaving before he can try again!" He pulled me along, and I didn't resist; I mumbled incoherent words that meant complete sense in my head. The world around me turned fuzzy, and the pain that had been bothering me faded away.

_Why would we leave him? _

_ I love him. _

_ Why won't you listen to me?! _

_ Elijah, stop it! _

_ They'll kill him, Elijah, stop it! _

_ Let me go!_

"Come on, Katie," he grunted, pulling me along. "Just a bit further."

I giggled, vaguely aware of a stinging sensation in my shoulder as my worried thoughts melted away. "To where?" I asked in a singsong voice. I reached out to touch a flower growing by an aspen tree. "Look, its so pretty!" I laughed again.

"Son of a…" he cursed, pulling me along and doing his best to keep me away from Canada's flora and fauna. "Stay with me, Katie," he said, frowning.

"Are we going back to Brooklyn?" I mumbled, stumbling over a root. I giggled. _Root. Rooooot._

"No, we're going to a safe house," he said, pulling me around a tree I had been trying to hug. I frowned, falling into him.

"Why?" I asked, trying to swing my free arm as I walked. I frowned when it hurt, and glared down at it. _Bad arm, _I scolded.

"So your psychotic boyfriend can't hunt us down and murder us," he muttered under his breath.

-o-

A cabin came into view. I had no idea how long I had been walking, but I knew that my hair was dry and soft, so it must have been a couple hours at least. _How am I still awake? I need a nap… a nice, long, cozy nap, _I thought happily.

I giggled and stumbled towards the house. "Hey, it's our Brooklyn house," I laughed, staggering like a drunkard towards it.

He closed his eyes in exasperation as his grip on my waist tightened. "Yes, Katie, it's our Brooklyn house," he said. "Let's go inside."  
"Okay," I laughed. I let him lead me inside, and I sat on a table, swinging my legs and looking around at him as he closed all the blinds and locked all the doors and windows. I don't know why, though, it all was much prettier with the sunlight streaming through. Beautiful.

He came back over to me and had me lie down, arms by my sides. He held a cloth near my face; it smelled funny.

"Whass that?" I slurred, pointing.

He pushed my arm back. "This is going to help you," he said. A panicked and embarrassed expression crossed his face. "Sorry about this."

He held the rage to my face, and in seconds, darkness was all I knew.

-o-

_Steve and I sat side by side at the cinemas. He wore a tan suit; I wore a light blue shirt with a white blouse. He had just failed another physical examination test… he wanted nothing more than to serve his country, and to protect it. To protect me. _

_ I felt the same, but I couldn't because I was a young woman, and young women are supposed to be civilized, calm, and fair. They aren't supposed to be going around blowing stuff up. _

_ I turned my attention to the film._ "_War continues to ravage Europe," the film said, "But help is on the way! Every able-bodied young man is lining up to serve his country. Even little Timmy is doing his part: Collecting scrap metal. Nice work, Timmy!" Steve's face remained expressionless, and I looked over at him sadly. I knew he didn't want to spend the rest of his life with the knowledge that we was not able to help his country; that he did nothing while his friends died in service_. In fact_, I thought_, Bucky took his test several days ago… I wonder how he did.

_ Some idiot several rows ahead of us began yelling at the screen, "Who cares! Play the movie already."_

_ I glared angrily at the fool, who had drawn the attention of the crying mothers and hurting fathers in the audience, but Steve spoke up, his voice low so as not to attract too much attention. "Hey, want to show some respect?" He asked. I placed my hand on his arm to calm him down; I was afraid for him. He got in too many fights protecting me, and freedom in general; someday he would attract an opponent he couldn't beat. Although, now that I think of it, he couldn't defeat his opponents as it was. _

_ The film continued its message, but I wasn't paying much attention at this point. I glared daggers at the back of the mystery man's head. "Meanwhile, over seas, our brave boys are showing the axis powers that the price of freedom is never to high."_

_ "Let's go, get on with it," the same man yelled. "Hey, just start the cartoon!"_

_ Steve sat forward, angry. "Hey, you want to shut up?" he growled._

_ The man stood up, revealing him to be over six feet tall and in extremely good shape. _

_ "Together with allied forces, we'll face any threat, no matter the size."_

_ The man stormed over, grabbed Steve's collar, and began dragging him out. Steve looked over at me. "Stay here," he said, right before the door slammed shut behind him._

_ I ignored him, leaping out of my seat and running after him, cursing my skirt. By the time I reached the two of them, Steve was breathing heavily on the ground. I froze for a moment, not sure what to do._

_ Steve scrambled to his feet, only to be knocked down again. I regained feeling in my legs and moved around to the side of the man, who didn't see me. Steve grabbed a trash can lid like a shield, but the guy wrenched it away and punched him square in the face a third time. Steve stood again, his fists clenched as though he were in a boxing match. The man was clearly amused, and his smug expression made my blood boil. My vision turned red, and I growled deep in my throat. "You just don't know when to give up, do you?" He taunted._

_ Steve stood, breathing heavily. "I can do this all day." He swung at the guy, who caught his arm and swung back sending another blow to his face. He spun around and fell, hitting his head on the trash bin behind him. _

_ Before the coward in front of me resorted to kicking, I ran forward and nailed the man in the face, making him stumble to the side. I stood in front of my older brother, a snarl on my face. "Leave him alone," I said angrily, my hands clenched into fists._

_ He laughed at me and looked down at my brother, who was struggling to regain his breath. "You need a little girl to fight your battles for you?" he jeered._

_ He grabbed my shoulders and pinned me against the wall, smirking. I blinked the stars out of my eyes; my head had cracked against the brick wall, and I felt dizzy. "You're not that bad, beautiful," he said, grinning wolfishly. I didn't answer but brought my knee up, making him howl in pain. I pushed him back, hoping to get him away from me, but he grabbed my arm and hit me, hard, across the face._

_ As I hit the ground, I heard a familiar and very welcome voice growl, "Hey, pick on someone your own size." I looked up to see my oldest friend punch the bastard in the mouth and kick him hard in the rear, sending him scampering away like a frightened rabbit._

_ He bent down and helped me to my feet as my brother stood up. "Are you alright?" he asked, concern filling his blue eyes. I nodded, becoming aware that I was shaking with the shock of what had just happened; what would've happened if Bucky hadn't gotten here in time. He kept his hand on my shoulder in a comforting way as he turned to Steve. "Sometimes I think you like getting punched," he said jokingly._

_ "I had him on the ropes," my brother replied, shaking his hands to get rid of the mud and blood without ruining his clothes. Bucky, whom I now realized was dressed in an army uniform, bent down to retrieve a slip of paper Steve had dropped._

_ "How many times is this?" he asked, reading over it. He looked up at my brother with a sigh. "Oh, your from Paramus now. You know it's illegal to lie on your enlistment form. And seriously, Jersey?" he asked, a hint of a smile on his lips._

_ Steve finally looked up and took in his uniform, which I had registered several minutes before. He frowned, and only I could see the hurt in his eyes at the realization that his best friend had been accepted into the army and he had not. "You get your orders?"_

_ Bucky nodded and stood up straighter. "The 107__th__. Sergeant James Barnes, shipping out for England first thing tomorrow."_

_ Steve shook his head and looked down as I felt my heart drop. "We should be going," he said, straightening his jacket._

_ The two looked at each other before Bucky grinned and slung his arm around Steve's shoulders, steering him out of the alley. He held my right hand with his left, and he smiled at me. "Come on, man," he said, "My last night. Gotta get you cleaned off," he added, removing his arm from his shoulders._

_ "Why, where we going?" Steve asked, not sounding very interested._

_ Bucky grinned and handed him a newspaper he had been holding. "The future."_

_ I moved and read over his shoulder about a science expo lead by some man by the name of Howard Stark. I looked over at Steve, who finally looked back at me for the first time since before I was hit. _

_ His eyes widened. "You're hurt," he said, stopping. Bucky stopped as well; we three stood together on a street corner as my older brother tilted my head back, examining the cut above my eye from where I had been punched. _

_ I squirmed away, flushing at the looks several people wee giving me. I hated unnecessary attention, and I wasn't hurt that badly. "I'm fine," I said, touching the cut and wincing a bit at the sight of the blood on my fingers. "It's just a little thing," I added. "It's not going to kill me."_

_ He looked uncertain. "I don't—"_

_ "I'm fine, Steven," I said, smiling. At the same time though, I couldn't help but notice the warm, wet feeling spreading out from the back of my head; a feeling which made my insides curl up with fear. _

_ "Katie," Bucky said, clearing his throat, "Would you… like to come to the expo with Steve and I? I can bring you, I'll bring a date for your brother…" he trailed off, and I felt my cheeks heat up. The normally silver-tongued James Barnes, stammering over asking a girl on a date._

_ I smiled, blushing, and forgot momentarily about the cut on my head. "Of course," I said. "I do owe you for saving me," I added. _

_ His smile faded, and he looked over my shoulder in the direction the coward had run, scowling. "If I ever see that bastard again," he muttered, a shadow coming over his features. He looked back at me, concern on his face, and he hugged me in a 'friendly' fashion so Steve wouldn't see just how scared he was for me, or how much he really cared for me. "Are you sure you're okay?" he asked again, his breath tickling my hair._

_ I nodded in his chest, feeling incredibly safe though I had been in so much danger minutes before. "I'm sure." _

_ And so it began. _

_ Both James and Steve knew it, and I was aware of it as well: my weakness. I would put myself in harm's way, end up being seriously injured, and then write it off as nothing so as to not attract worry. Some could call it pride, others would call it devotion. I didn't want anyone to worry about me, and I wanted to protect them as best I could, no matter the cost_.

I guess I am more like my brother than he thinks_, I thought. _

_-o-_

My eyes jerked open and I sat straight up, nearly knocking heads with Elijah for the second time in two days. My head, shoulder, and wing throbbed, and I thought back to the last memory I had.

Which was Eli holding a chloroform-soaked rag to my face.

"Are you okay?" he asked, moving to sit in a chair next to the bed I was on. I looked around, taking in the log walls and rustic interior of the safe house and doing my best to act as though my delusional giggling side had never made an appearance. I couldn't tell what time it was based off the sunlight; I vaguely recalled Elijah shutting all the curtains before making me pass out.

I ignored his questions, more bent on getting answers to my own. "What happened?"

"Can you move your arm?" he asked, ignoring them. I felt my already strained nerves break, and I exploded.

"I'm _fine; _where are we? Just answer my questions, there's nothing wrong with me!" I snapped, angry at everything from his questions to the green and yellow-checkered tablecloth on the other side of the room.

"You were just shot," he yelled back. "You spent the whole time here hallucinating and talking nonsense, and you've spent the twelve hours since we got here passed out. Answer _me_."

I sat stunned. Twelve hours? "I'm fine." I rolled my shoulder and yelled. "Perfectly. Fine!" I shouted, clamping my hand down on it and clenching my teeth. I felt thick padding on my shoulder and knew that Eli had stitched up the wound for the second time that week, and I did my best to forget that it was the same person—my fiancé—who had inflicted these wounds in the first place. Something else struck me, and I looked up, keeping pressure on my shoulder. "How did one rag of chloroform make me pass out for twelve hours?" I asked through clenched teeth, watching as he walked over to a cabinet in the corner of the room. He held up a bottle of Anesthesia, and I sighed. He came back and sat down next to me, examining where the bullet had entered and exited my shoulder before striking my wing.

He reached over and ran his hand over the wing that had been shot, and I hissed in pain. "The good news," he said, frowning in concentration as he parted some of the smaller feathers in an attempt to see better, "is that this—" he indicated the bullet wound in my shoulder, "—is just a flesh wound. The bad news is that, thanks to the other bullet wound, knife wound—courtesy of your boyfriend—" Here I glared at him, but he ignored me, "and something other wound I don't know about—"

"That was a switchblade," I clarified, recalling how I had taken the abrasion meant for my brother. "A Nazi soldier was about to plunge his knife into my brother's back; I jumped in front of him and took the blade instead."

Eli looked at me in wonder before turned back to the wound. "Right. Well, because of all that, there is a bunch of scar tissue built up in this general area. Because you haven't technically aged in a long time, and because of your agility and fitness, you've been able to retain the use of your arm fairly well. However, this may have been the straw that broke the camel's back, so to speak." He sighed, and I frowned. "Because you've started aging again, I can already see buildup of scar tissue where a week ago there was none. Katie… you need to be careful, especially with this arm. If anymore tissue buildup occurs, you may not be able to fight or defend with this arm." He traced his fingers across my collarbone and shoulder, then down to my forearm. "This is where the majority of the tissue lies." He tapped the spot above my armpit where the joint is. He trailed off, not sure how to continue.

I sighed, tired despite my twelve-hour nap. "Anymore bad news?" I asked sarcastically, not expecting his response.

"Yeah." I opened my eyes, frowning at him. "The bullet is still lodged in your wing, and from the looks of it, it's wedged in your bone. There's no way for me to get it out."

I grabbed a pillow from behind me and screamed into it, not believing my misfortune. "Great."

He hesitated before speaking again. "That's not the worst part." I didn't move, waiting for him to tell me the worst. "The bullet, from the looks of it, was implanted with a tracking device."

I looked up, clenching the pillow so hard that the seam ripped. "What?!" I shrieked, panicked.

"Your boyfriend is tracking you," he said, ignoring my death glare. "And there's only one person we could possibly go to to have it removed."


End file.
